#in real life i will play along with other people's fantasies sure. that's not the same thing as having it be My Thing

[bitegore]

every so often i have to really wonder about the people who watch me talk about how badly i want someone to let me hurt them and fantasize about murdering imaginary characters i like and somehow assumes i'm a sub primarily and wants to be killed and chased and not, like, do the killing and chasing

#red rambles #theres a specific exchange i keep thinking of but it happens a surprising amount #i guess it's good that no one's looking at me and assuming i'm going to be a serial killer in the future any more #like im never going to forget that one girl who thought we were friends in high school telling me as i signed her yearbook #that if she heard about a serial killer on tv she was gonna immediately assume it was me. as though it was a cute jokey #thing to say and i was supposed to think it was flattering ?????? #but this one's annoying too. no i dont want your blorbo to come hunt me down and put a hole in me unless i get to do them at the same time #if i'm writing texaid it's because i want to be tex not aid. if i'm writing mm/ds it's because i want to be motormaster and not drag strip #in real life i will play along with other people's fantasies sure. that's not the same thing as having it be My Thing #if you've never played along with a partner while banging them because you don't mind and they clearly like it idk what your deal is #but mine is just that i'm not as picky as i look and i can roll with most things #that doesn't mean that idk hypno is my kink or whatever just bc i dont mind if my fuckbuddy wants to put on hypno shit in the background #like get off my dick. and stop making assumptions #ill tell you who i am if you listen and if you aren't putting it together you're not going to get it. that's all #lemon

[celesterayel]

something out of my dreams | luke castellan

pairing : luke castellan x dionysus!reader

request: could you possibly write a luke x daughter of dionysus please? maybe she’s like super nice and when percy gets to camp she becomes like an older sister and luke is super whipped for her? @elz-zalarrr

IN WHICH — all he knows is that you were something out of his dreams.

"trust him like a brother, yeah, you know i did one thing right. starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night" - t.s.

w.c. 1.8k

warning(s) : cheesiness ゜✭・.

✩ ‧₊˚ author's note okay i've begun to realize that low-key i feel like i write in cursive if that makes sense? if a feeling could describe it i'd say its like using poetry to write? that's likely not any better lol :)

there was but one person that everyone could agree they adored at camp half blood.

it didn't matter what grudge who had with whom or what ancient rivalries transcended the ideals of reality, everyone loved you. not the typical type of brittle love that crumbled at the slightest of touches, but pure adoration that endured the sands of time.

you with the gentle soul, who healed others with each laugh and smile. when new half-godlings were brought to camp, you made sure to comfort them and make them understand that they belonged here and would find a home whether they wanted to or not. you made sure that no birthday was forgotten, no deed undone.

children of minor gods or elders, of Ares or Aphrodite, you became an older sister to all who needed you. you, the daughter of fertility and chaos, the god dionysius.

there was no debate that at camp half blood there was only a before you and an after you. you were like that high right before the free fall–invincibility and smoke and curiosity wrapped into the form of a demi-god. you were the gentle breeze during summer nights when the heat became too much. and none ached more to feel it than luke castellan, who had been burning for as long as he knew.

your relationship in itself was tentative, you danced around your feelings–scared one wrong touch or word would break the shaky, fine line that lay between you two. but you could not hide the way you loved the other to yourselves nor the children of the beings of divine blood. 

luke castellan loved you like the stars would fall out of the sky with one harsh touch, free and incandescently self-destructive. like you were a wild, wonderful thing out of a fantasy.

you loved him like there was no hell or heaven but the cosmos that lay in his eyes and the worlds that lay in his soul. something so sacred and rare. a love so true and mortal it put all the greek tragedies to shame. 

you knew that whatever you and him were made of, in every lifetime or the next you two were made for each other. 

loving luke castellan would be both your redemption and destruction in the making, your elysium for whatever good thing you had done in your previous life. 

✩ ‧₊˚

you first met percy jackson when he came to camp, he was a scared little thing who had just lost his mother when the veil between reality and deception flickered. everything he’d known came crumbling as quickly as the truth was uncovered: gods and monsters were real and played games of hell and heaven on earth. some thing about him called out to the vulnerability you once knew when you first came to camp so you made it your mission to be the sister he never had. 

you met him at the front of the steps of the main office, “my name is y/n, percy jackson. welcome to camp halfblood.”

“do you just somehow know everyones name,” he raised his eyebrows at you. 

“yes.” no, but you supposed it’d be fun to let him think that. 

“of course you do.”

“come along, i’ll show the ins and outs here. if you're nice enough, i might let you in on the cook's secret stash of blue ice cream,” you laughed out.

he contemplated his choices before grabbing your outstretched hand and shaking it, “deal.”

you showed him who to avoid and the best people to befriend. the history between your kind and why the gods were as they were. the truth behind his bloodline and the legacy that he was now responsible for. the tribulations and the pain that was cursed to follow the children of the gods. 

“and this is chris. the best person to ask if you need to know what plants are poisonous,” you say, introducing him to a guy with black hair and soft eyes. 

percy looks at chris before looking around to see where the hermes boy is, “we’ve met. he was with luke when he was showing me around”

you’re cheeks heated at the mention of his name; looking around to see if you can spot the familiar tan skin and soft eyes that belong to your luke. 

“oh! luke! yeah, he’s around here somewhere. he’s sly like that, wandering and then popping up the next second.”

a voice pipes up behind you suddenly, “y/n, already telling percy everything about me?” 

you whirl around and there he stands in all his glory with the curls you love and the sun in his eyes. your golden boy.

“just telling him the truth, castellan. you’re hard to get a hold of sometimes.”

a hue of pink covers his cheeks, “i’m never far from you.”

both of you oblivious to percy and chris who seem to be conversing about you both and the tip-toe dance you play. 

percy just wonders what’s happening here: firstly, luke is looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars and that’s saying something because he has shit observation skills–his analysis essays can attest to that. secondly, he swears he can see hearts in his eyes from where he’s standing and is that…is that a blush?

he turns to chris, who is just staring at the two like it's not out of the normal for what’s happening, “what’s happening here? is he blushing?”

chris just nods, “yeah. luke’s kinda–very obviously to everyone–in love with y/n. if i didn’t know better i’d say she’s gotten him insane in love. very likely as her dad’s the god of insanity.”

he turns back to the two who are laughing and standing closer than before, “like super, super in love. if there was a word for love, luke’s found it”

“huh.” 

chris says it like it’s common knowledge like how the best food is blue jelly beans, “i mean i ship it, y/n’s the sweetest person around here–the type of person people write songs about. she’s like a sister to us older ones and a mother to the younger ones. the whole camp is waiting for him to just man up and ask y/n. they make each other happy, you know?”

“yeah, i think i do.” 

percy thinks it’s something the poets would write about.

✩ ‧₊˚

fridays are capture the flag days.

you’re not the type of person to engage in these types of games all that often but you suppose there’s a first time for everything. someone’s got to show the percy boy how it’s played. 

“okay, percy. remember, keep your senses open and make sure that no one gets close enough to engage. once they engage, it’s hard to fight them off.”

all around you two, people have begun to don their armor and raise arms. the sun has just reached its height and you’re huddled together discussing your gameplan. even though your cabin house is pretty small, you’ve joined athena and hermes for this game. 

percy’s voice rises a little high as he tries swinging his sword around only to drop it, “yeah, okay. i’ll just try not to die, i guess. that’s not like hard or anything.”

“just follow my lead and if i’m not here find luke.”

you're not exactly excited about percy’s odds. the kid is lanky as is and his sassiness doesn’t help him out much when others target him for it. 

that’s exactly why you’re gone to his rescue when he nearly gets hit in the face by a spear after he insulted one of the boys from house ares. 

your heel nearly buckles under a sharp hit after you block the attack that’s directed to percy. you manage to reset your heel and push the sword off before you drop down into a crouch and sweep the legs of the warrior in front of you.

unfortunately you're slightly too focused on what’s in front of you and protecting percy you don’t realize that someones charging toward you from the side. 

fortunately, a block from a familiar sword stops any attack that might meet you head on. no sooner do you hear the block that luke’s got the other guy on the floor and surrendering. 

you grin at him, “i had that handled.”

giving you that grin that makes you feel like your future's right in front of you, he replies: “i’m sure you did. but why let you deal with him when i can save you the trouble.” 

“why don’t you go and help annabeth win the games, romeo.”

he gives you a wink, throwing a quick ‘yes ma’am’ before he’s already running off again. 

no sooner than later, a quick gong resounds throughout the camp, concluding the games. you’re standing slightly battered while percy walks behind you pointing out all the flowers he’s found. you definitely need to teach him how to defend himself. 

the players are just trickling in for the woods they’ve been fighting in to reband together and in the distance you see a figure running toward you. 

holding onto the flag, he continues to look at you like you’re everything he’s ever needed to breathe. he’s taken his helmet off and you can finally see him fully: brown eyes and all dimples.

“see you’ve found the flag.”

he takes a couple of steps closer to you until only two steps separate him and you, “yeah, someone told me to go win the game so I did just that for her”.

“really now?”

he whispers, “yeah.” 

his eyes twinkle and you’ve never wanted anything more than to continue to stare at them. 

you hope he’ll make the next move but luke castellan, the boy you’ve fallen for in every lifetime, is always content to admire you.

so, you take those two next steps, grab him by his neck, and press your lips to his. 

he stands shocked for a minute, wondering if what’s happening is really happening. but no sooner, he’s dropped the flag on the grass and holds you like your the greatest treasure he’s ever had.

there’s a certain type of tragedy that your golden boy tastes like, fire and freedom all in this moment. it’s the price of redemption and damnation that you’re willing to pay. 

to him, it’s the stars aligning like you’d will them to–the power you held and every thing he’s ever needed. your his past, future, and present: the threads in his life giving him the one thing he’s ever wanted. something he’s only ever dreamed of. 

he pulls back slightly before murmuring, “in every lifetime or the next, i am yours. i don’t know what i did to deserve you. you’re something only out of my dreams, y/n.”

"you sap"

you just kiss him again, ignoring all the campers and those still trickling in. 

✩ ‧₊˚

“definitely a child of dionysius. she’s reduced him to insanity,” pipes up percy as he tears off the petals of the flower he holds in his hand. 

chris just grabs a flower and continues to rip the petals off like the boy beside him. 

“damn straight!” shouts luke toward the two.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo fandom #pjo series #luke x reader #percy jackson show #percy jackson x reader #luke pjo #pjo x reader #pjo x you #pjo #ignore the cringe

[steleir]

sick of these posts yet? well too bad. i’m not done not when me along with some of my moots keep discovering more and more disgusting shit adults get away on this play for which is not ok.

i know a lot of people with disagree a lot on this one more than the others because in here i will put screen shots from someone’s blog and i don’t wanna see no anon in my inbox go “you can’t do that” well if i need it to show you how disgusting someone is and the people defending them are, how weird their posts are then i don’t care if i can’t or not.

thank you to @satorisoup and @omitea for providing me with these screen shots.

and lastly, report me, hate, block, un follow, i don’t care what drama this brings. i don’t care if i loose respect from moots or followers, this is something. i wholeheartedly believe is wrong, and im willing to loose this blog for it.

where do i even begin with this one?

maybe i’ll just start on why writing smut for minors is wrong.

first of all i gen see it as borderline pedophilia.like call that exaggerated this character looks like a minor. because they are a minor. “aging them up” is still them as a minor.

and i hen dc if your not going along with the manga. this character needs a CANNON time skip for this shit. sure, aging up is common, even in fluff, but that’s different. most fluff writer are minors themselves, they aren’t ADULTS writing PORN for MINORS. see the difference?

aging up is all imaginary, this character is still a minor.

and iv even seen people go as far as aging down adult characters. like thats just as a bad?? tf is wrong with yall???

a minors is not to be specialized, even if the manga artist does, why are you?

“well it’s not real”

warm i don’t give to flying fucks. it’s a problem whether you like it or not. their MINORS. need i say it again? MINORS.

now beginning with the screen shots i’m goin to start with these:

look at these. bakugo is 16. itadori is 15? who i t heir right minds commissions this as a person in their 20’s? especially the itadori one.

he’s 15 and your imagining him stuffed in your boobs? like hello? do you not see how wrong that is?

oh and also look at them? do they look aged? NO. FUCK NO. they still look like the do in the anime. and in the anime their MINORSSSSSSS.

i have no words for this one tbh. just fucking digusting.

i love how the creator saw this message and because they literally CANNOT defend themselves they post it. mot probably expecting a defense from their followers and moots.

look at the things underlined. this girl has many good points. but what did the creator do? ignore. not at all address what she said. simply laughing when in all honestly, she is the laughing stock.

shes over 25 years old obsessed with a 16 year old.

someone who is under the legal age.

a person who cant consent for themselves. “it’s fiction” erm idc.

“the is own has me rolling” girl go get a life. the person who sent the message is more than right. and you know that.

but your so fucking weird to the point you can’t let go of a character nine years younger than you.

this replies are so fucking funny.

every one of them talking about the fact she kink shamed or the insults she used but not at all addressing her point.

notice that? none of them had an answer. non of them tasked about the fact this girl point out the fact this over 25 yo was a hypocrite and literally a pedo.

why? because they are all immature adults who are blinded by hot MINOR CHARACTERS. these characters are not for you. sorry to break it to you.

these MINORS were not made for your digesting piss fantasies.

“she kink shamed after saying she wouldn’t!!” go cry to mommy kink shaming is no where near as bad as writing porn for a minor.

now, i’m not in the mha fandom. but i’ve watched some of it, and you have most of the villains AND the pro hero’s to simp for. why the fuck are you choosing the students? like girl. bffr.

that entire message and alll that anon cared about was the smut with a piss kink the person was talking about?

like? i can’t even.

notice the fact she ain’t addressing what the person who sent her the message sent?

why? because she obviously knows it’s wrong. she obviously knows. every adult on here knows.

but they are head empty that they laugh it off and brush it off bcs the person is a minor and still attending school so it really dosent matter what we say.

like us minors aren’t idiots. and bye the looks of all these posts it seems we have WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY more common sense than all of you combined.

#✦ : important! #mha smut #mha x you #mha x reader #mha #bnha smut #bnha x reader #bnha #bnha x you #bllk smut #bllk you #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock #bluelock x you #bluelock x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

[xhdream]

LOSER(S)

01. a souvenir from my biggest fan

pairing: youtuber theo x fem!reader

genre: smut w/ a sprinkle of plot wc: 2.9k

summary: the charming guy running the youtube channel you enjoy watching mostly because of him and not the games he’s playing, moves in the apartment across from yours, and turns out to be the biggest asshole you’ve encountered in years

chapter contains: switch!reader, unprotected sex, cussing, dirty talk, choking (m), oral (f), orgasm denial

a/n: please, keep in mind english is not my first language, i apologise in advance for any mistakes i’ve might missed

!! this is pure fiction for entertainment purposes

📁 loser(s) masterlist

“Wow, you’re an asshole in real life,” you keep talking bitterly with little flames in your eyes. “I’m actually impressed with your acting skills.”

A frustrated airy laugh slips through your lips while Taeyang’s, on the other hand, curl up at the corners, amused at how seriously you’re taking this whole situation.

“Sorry to ruin the little fantasy you had of me, sweetheart.”

“You should be glad that I prefer to spend my time doing anything else than dealing with you,” you turn to your front door and flip the key, “cause I can just call the cops.”

“Are you sure that’s what you really prefer?”

This is not the first time you’re fighting Choi Taeyang in the middle of the hallway, nor it’s the last unless you move buildings. His youtube channel is growing rapidly which calls for more content and less peace for you.

He's still leaning against the door frame with his headset hanging from his neck. The subtle mischievous spark in his eyes, the one you know so well from the multiple videos you’ve seen from him, is so different in real life - straight up mean, making you wonder how you used to find his channel fun and comforting despite the terrifying games he plays.

“You’re at my fucking door almost every single night,” he continues. “Maybe I should call them, you seem more of a stalker than a marketing manager.”

“Fuck off,” you spit out entering your apartment. “You’re a pathetic loser with no life.”

“Bitch.” Taeyang slams the door of his home the second you shut yours.

A month ago you couldn't wait to finish work and hop on the bus to head back home.

Now, you go home on foot so it can take you extra minutes to arrive.

The time you finish work is the time Taeyang comes back from the gym, and by the hour you're lounging in bed ready to relax with your new favorite show is the hour he turns on the usual scary games, and transforms your cozy time in a mirage. Today is going to be no different, because he has zero empathy for people’s feelings, so you take your time even with walking towards the elevator after you arrive at your apartment building.

“Wait!”

You make out the too familiar voice echoing in the hallway along with the stamping sound of his footsteps just when you press the button.

Taeyang runs through the open doors, and you walk in after him faking a smile. His ebony black hair is half wet and his outfit casual, consisting only of a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt under his unzipped hoodie. Judging by the bag with beer cans in his hand your guesses are correct - his workout is done and he's going to take his seat in front of the computer.

The unnerving silence fills the air the second the doors close in front of your eyes.

“Next time fill up your mouth with your panties or something,” Taeyang glances up at the changing neon numbers. “What if you accidentally scream my name? I don’t wanna hear that.”

He fakes a disgusted expression and shakes his shoulders as an attempt to get rid of the image in his head.

You knew putting your earphones in to blast music as you use your vibrator is risky since sometimes you tend to be more vocal than others, but what were you supposed to do when all of his exaggerated yelling and cussing comes through the wall exactly where your bed is?

You can’t touch yourself during the day because you’re at work, and now you can’t do it before sleep because of him.

Your fake chuckle rings hollow in the small space. You look away, but you cannot escape his face though. You both see each other in the reflecting glass that’s all around you; it’s a little blurry, but not enough to not be aware that you’re staring at each other.

“Good to know you take off that headset once in a while.” You raise your chin up. “Maybe I should touch myself more often if that’s gonna help a loser like you get a life.”

The doors slide open, and you walk out first, feeling Taeyang’s gaze all over your ass.

“Is your boring corporate job stressing you out, sweetheart?” He calls out behind you, as you walk down the corridor. “Is that why you’re taking your anger out on me since day one?”

“I love my job,” you say when he catches up your pace.

“And you hate mine.”

“Because of you,” you glare at him, stopping in front of your apartment. You don’t even realise when you started raising your voice. “It’s your lack of responsibility and consideration I have a problem with, not what you do.”

“Shh, you’re going to disturb the neighbours.” Taeyang puts a finger on his lips, and for the first time you feel the urge to slap a person.

He comes closer to you while staring at your cleavage. It’s flushed with a delicate reddish color that he could associate only with himself and the emotions he brings within you.

“Do you want me to help you out with that? I can help you relieve some of the pressure, doll… most of it.”

You breathe in once, looking in his eyes.

You breathe in twice… recognising the fresh earthy aroma coming from his skin and damp hair.

It’s not your voice that gives him an answer, but your lips that smash against his own.

That’s exactly what Taeyang hoped for, and his arms immediately go around your waist, pulling you close after he drops the bag of beer cans on the ground. His hands slide down to grip your ass cheeks through the linen fabric of your pants, that’s too thin and his cock already starts to gain pressure from how much it allows him to feel in his palms.

“My place or yours?” You pull back just to ask the question then kiss him again.

Taeyang’s hands go up, sneaking under your shirt.

“You already know what my room looks like, it’s time I see yours.”

“That’s fair.”

He doesn’t leave you out of sight as he gets rid of his clothes while you unbutton your shirt. Once you’re left in your lingerie he doesn’t give you a chance to remove it, because he pushes you onto the bed, covering your skin with wet kisses. You look gorgeous in it anyways, so he doesn’t mind if it stays on a little longer.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he mutters against the flesh of your tummy before grinding his tongue up to your bellybutton. His hands are squishing your breasts harshly making you gasp. “Fuck, drives me crazy.”

His teeth bite the hem of your lace panties, pull and let it drop with a smack.

When he moves up to lock lips with yours again they seem to move even more eagerly than minutes before. His tongue invades your mouth almost with a frustration, leaving you out of breath and panting for more.

But you rather get that yourself.

“What the—“ He stumbles around his words surprised from suddenly finding himself on his back.

You swiftly succeed in straddling his hips as he didn’t have the chance to react in time to prevent you from getting on top.

“Shut up,” you say, unclipping your bra and rubbing your clit on his stiffened length at the same time. You still have your panties on and you see his gaze darkening from wanting to rip them off. “Mm, your cock is so hard...”

“Take it in your greedy mouth then.” He grips your hips forcing them to move quicker. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Yeah, but that would be too easy.”

Taeyang laughs before grabbing your arms to bring your face down into his.

You gasp through a smile creeping up on your face. You can’t hide the enjoyment from his rough responses to every single thing you do.

“These tricks don’t work on me, doll. Be a good girl and do as I say from now on.”

“You’re not the only player here, pretty boy.” You pull his bottom lip with your teeth, and his erection twitches against your clit, both from the bite and your attitude. “I will suck your dick when I decide you’ve earned it.”

Before you realise a thing, Taeyang flips you over and strips you from your panties pushing them inside your mouth. His hands bend your knees with fingers digging into your skin finally spreading you apart. As his mouth waters from the seductive sight of what’s between your thighs, yours spit out the underwear.

“Tsk,” Taeyang picks it up, and muffles your irritated whines by returning them back where they were. “What an ungrateful doll. I’m doing you a favor and this is how you say thank you?”

He holds his palm over your lips to keep the fabric in place while his other one gives your right boob a slap followed by a few more after he catches you make a muffled pleasant sound.

Eventually the grumpy look on your face dissipates into a rapture as the pleasure from his tongue comes in waves, each more powerful than the other. He alternates between sucking and lapping on your juices while also playing with the pacing of his licks over your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, you taste too sweet for such an angry girl,” he groans before gliding his tongue through your sloppy folds only to swirl the tip of it around your clit again.

And you eat pussy too well for such a loser.

Your chin begins to leak from your drooling, slipping down your neck as your panties get soaked with your moans and spit. The fact you’re not able to be loud as you need to makes your jaw clench with frustration, but your pussy even more aroused under Taeyang’s tongue.

His grip on your thighs tighten painfully limiting your shakiness as he buries his coarse mouth even deeper, grazing his teeth against your intimate lips; tongue tracing stripes from your dripping hole up to your most sensitive point over and over again. He makes out with your entire cunt the same way he kisses you - mean with a desire to control.

“I can make it feel even better if you promise not to empty your filthy mouth,” he glances at you, giving you a nice view of all the glistening fluids all over his face.

You nod too quickly, you realise, but most of the stubbornness left you the moment his tongue touched you for the first time.

You grip the sheets cause your fingers are already tempted to pull out the underwear the more his swollen tip levels with your entrance.

You’ve never taken such big size before and your heart starts racing excitedly at the thought of the appealing girth sinking inside you.

“Shit,” Taeyang’s brows knit together while his length fills you up bit by bit, tightening the knot of pleasure in his core. “You’re too fuckin’ small and tight for me.”

He inserts it all the way slowly, wanting you to feel the way you suck in with ease every inch of him; wanting you to know just how bad you needed him. However, once it’s in, his patience dies down giving his hips the freedom to move as quickly as possible.

Taeyang runs a hand through his dark hair, then moves it over your lower tummy, pressing against his cock that’s reaching the desired spot over and over again. His sharp gaze follows your eyes fluttering in bliss, as the rush he creates invades your body.

Once he leans in to hang your right leg over his shoulder for a deeper thrust, your repressed mewls rise even higher; erotic heavy growls just like in the videos he watches to jerk off.

“We get along so much better when you have your mouth shut, don’t you think?” He fans your face while holding himself up on his hands.

A groan escapes his puffy lips before he could catch it after you bury fingers in his hair and tug on the roots, pulling him closer.

With one tilt of his head Taeyang drops your panties down after stealing them from your mouth with his teeth.

“Mind if I keep those?” He asks and receives the sound of the first real raw moans of yours as an answer.

It would be a foolish lie if he says he won’t be thinking about them after this.

“A souvenir from my biggest fan…” He whispers in your ear and you can feel the intoxicating effect that his voice alone has on you.

His hips slow down for the first time, moving slowly in circles while he catches his breath.

“Shit, Tae… Faster.” You pull his hair like you’re holding on for dear life, as you sense every inch of him making you more dizzy with those slow massaging motions.

“Faster?” He repeats with a sudden powerful slam from his hips, that catches you off guard. “Are you close?” He pulls out almost all the way only to shove himself again, stabbing your g-spot. “Wanna cum… is that it?”

“Yeah…” Your whimper gets lost from the lewd noises when he proceeds to pound into you, but this time rapidly without stopping for a second. The skin on skin slapping merges with Taeyang’s hitched heavy breathing, but he still manages to catch the little broken yes-es coming from underneath him. “Fuck—“

Your mouth remains open, but not because your awaited climax arrives, but because Taeyang pulls out just before it does.

The burning dissatisfaction from what was about to be your most intense orgasm being stolen from you forces you to turn over and wail in your pillow.

“Shhh,” Taeyang turns you back around, slapping your inner thigh with his drenched cock. Your squirmy lips bring a devilish smirk on his face. “It’s not that bad, doll. You can take it.”

A moment later his eyes watch you suspiciously raising up.

You grab the base of his dick determined to take charge.

“I wanted to cum so bad from this pretty cock,” you coo moving your fist up and down, as he rests on his knees in front of you with his unbelievably captivating plump lips and cold gaze.

His face begins to scrunch up from your quickening hand, and the way your playful thumb keeps going over his red tip like it knows just when is the perfect time to do it.

“I’ve never had such a big one in my pussy before…” You add on to his arousal. “Feels nice.”

“Shit,” Taeyang throws his head back. His chest rises heavily while his abs clench from the stimulation. “Just nice?” He lifts up to look at you challengingly. It drives him nuts how you always lit up a fire in his chest by irritating him, and turning him on at the same time.

“Go on…” You provoke him, squeezing the leaky shape of his head. “You’ve called me worse than that.”

Taeyang gulps when you drop his erection only to grip it with your aroused walls instead. You both sigh in sync as you get in contact with the electrifying warmth once again, that now feels ten times more intense.

Although it’s subtle, you don’t miss the change in his expression when you begin to bounce just like you wanted to in the beginning.

“Don’t.” You command the second you sense the presence of his hands on your waist, desperate to regain control. “You’re going to let me do this.”

You quicken your movements, watching him chew on his mouth from the overwhelming rush he desperately tries to keep under control.

“Why…” Taeyang’s voice comes out too breathless to continue his question. The fact your hand wraps around his throat to put pressure on the sides of his neck doesn’t help either. This is the first time he allows something like this, and it makes his heart flutter from an unfamiliar thrill.

“Why what, pretty boy?” You slow down, curious to know what he’s thinking right now.

Taeyang only shakes his head, turning his knuckles white from gripping the sheets. He wants to push you on your back, to cuss at you and fuck you until you’re sore, and can’t mutter a single word to him… but he’s captivated. It’s like every time you touch him you secretly cast a spell on him that he’s unable to break through.

The only thing he could say is…

“Just… keep going.”

You smile, tilting his chin higher to meet his eyes.

The speed of your lower body picks up when you begin to ride him chasing your high - with the head of his cock kissing right where you need it, and the most arousing sounds slipping from his lips that begin to pout with every next move.

“Holy s-shit—“ Taeyang chokes on his moan moving his hands on your waist, but not interrupting your movements. “Y/N…”

“Not yet,” you say, feeling shivers down your spine from the way he pants your name. “Wait for me.” You release his throat, trying your best to keep the rapid pace going.

Taeyang cusses in the crook of your neck where he starts biting harshly to distract himself from how bad he needs to cum, not caring at all that you keep hissing from his sucking.

“Can’t…” he grunts against the wet skin under your earlobe. “Fuck, come on, cream my cock you slut.” He grabs a handful of your hair, and that turns out to be just enough to snap the overwhelming knot in your tummy.

You rock your hips back and forth more slowly, panting as the ecstatic rush passes through your veins when suddenly Taeyang’s weak husky voice surprises you.

“You’re amazingly hot.”

Your two fingers slip through his lips and he allows that too.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

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#— loser(s) #p1harmony smut #p1h smut #p1harmony hard thoughts #p1harmony hard hours #p1h hard thoughts #taeyang hard thoughts #theo hard thoughts #taeyang smut #taeyang x reader #theo smut #theo x reader #piwon smut #piwon x reader

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Sometimes a Bearimy is many moons, and sometimes it's just a couple days! Do not expect this sort of pace to continue though this chapter was most of the way finished when I posted the first one.

Chapter 2 - Familiar and Forgotten

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Noncon kissing, Alcohol mentions, Smoking mention, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through.

~5.2k words

You don’t say much for the rest of the journey.

It’s not far, really, only an hour or two from the bridge in the woods, and your anxiety seizes you so completely that you can do little more than smile wanly at Kyle’s jokes and Johnny’s attempts to flirt with you. Ghost stays as quiet as you do, a comforting spectre of familiarity walking by your side.

The city is much like you remember it, but there’s life now, where a grim shadow hung over the people before. Windows are thrown open, laundry hangs on lines spanning between houses, brightly coloured clothes flapping in the breeze like flags. Children play in one of the alley’s you pass by, kicking a ball between them, although they stop to watch you pass, eyes growing big, collecting at the edge of the street so they can stare for longer. People begin to gather at the peripheries everywhere, the gentle roar of many hushed voices drowning out all else. It seems that the people here still recognize you, although you’re not sure if it’s by your face or the company that escorts you along.

The castle looms over the city, tall, imposing walls made a little friendlier with blue and silver banners hung from the parapets, the oppressive air lessened, but not entirely erased. You think that nothing could make the castle look truly welcoming— It never has been to you, not even when you did call it home.

Ghost looks at you as you approach the dark stone walls, and puts a big hand on your thigh. “Olright?” he asks quietly.

You nod, swallowing thickly as Nox’s claws scrape over the wooden drawbridge. It feels like the palace means to devour you whole, the shade of the main courtyard matching your somber mood. It’s greener than you remember, a raised garden bed full of flowers and a few small trees sits in the center of things now, directing traffic coming in around in a circle rather than every which way. There are gardens on the flat roofs of some of the outbuildings too, where they can catch more light despite the looming walls.

Nox stops in front of the stairs up to the main door, and Ghost lifts you down easily. When you look up, you notice there are people gathering around the main courtyard too, a gentle susurrus rising up around you like the wind. A stable hand approaches to take Kyle's horse, stumbling over his feet, too busy staring at you to watch where he's going.

"Standin' around with their gobs open," Johnny grumbles. "S'like they've ne'er seen a princess before."

Kyle thanks the stable hand when he passes the reigns to him, and offers his arm to you. "Are you ready, sweetpea?" His smile strains at the corners when you look at him. Your own face must be grim indeed.

"I'll have to be," you say, curling your hand around his arm, gathering your skirts with your other hand. You feel small and plain as you ascend on Kyle's arm, dressed simply in clothes you sewed yourself, glad you were wearing your second best skirt at least. Why that bothers you now you couldn't say-- Its not as though you're concerned with making a good impression.

Kyle leads you into the hall of judgment, where your father used to take petitions and settle disputes. It's different here too-- There are benches for supplicants to sit while they wait, and a few desks set to one side of the ante chamber, where clerks speak to citizens in hushed voices, helping speed along the process. There aren't very many people there really, it's not the tired crush of hollow eyed people clamoring for attention from a disinterested king now. Its organized, efficient, fair-minded. You can't help but approve.

John Price sits on the dais, listening to the man in front of him, but his stone-faced attention breaks when he looks up and sees you. He stands and hops down the steps, touching the man's arm. "I will send a hunting party to deal with your manticore problem," he promises. "But if you'll excuse me…" his blue eyes lock onto you, sweeping down and back up to your face.

You feel pinned in place by the intensity of those eyes, Kyle's presence by your side not enough to melt the cracking ice that settles around you.

"Princess!" John greets you enthusiastically, arms wide as he strides across the hall, meeting you in the middle. "Welcome home. I trust your journey was a pleasant one? It's a nice day for a ride through the countryside." He looks good, although there's silver in his beard and glittering by his temples that was never there before, and a plain silver circlet on his brow. He dresses the same as you remember, for comfort and practicality rather than for fashion, and he still fills out his clothes in much the same way, his broad, powerful body unchanged despite his new vocation.

"A better day for tending to the garden," you say. "But Sir Garrick rather insisted on the ride."

John smiles at you warmly, and Kyle wordlessly pulls away from you, leaving you standing before John alone. You're pulled into an embrace before you know what's happening, oak-solid arms crushing you to his chest. He pulls back enough to look at you, but he doesn't let you go. The pleasant tobacco and warm spice scent of him engulfs you, caged in his arms while he studies your upturned face. "You're more beautiful than I remember," he says. "It's good to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but he seizes the opportunity to kiss you. Not a chaste press of lips to your cheeks, which would have been an appropriate greeting between two people of your status, but a kiss, a real one, his mouth slotting over yours like you were reuniting lovers rather than near-perfect strangers.

He kisses you for a long moment, lips moving against yours possessively, long enough for the room to grow unbearably silent around you, shame twisting with a childish flame rekindled the instant he put his hands on you. You push against his chest, and he finally comes to his senses, not releasing you or giving you more space, but at least ending the kiss, letting you breathe and sort out your conflicted feelings.

“Why did you do that?” you ask him, voice low and breathless, even if you would prefer to shout it, or perhaps punctuate the question with a slap.

“Because I wanted to,” he says pleasantly, smiling in that infuriating, cheeky way he used to when he caught you watching the knights practising from the palace windows. “I think it was long overdue, don’t you?”

“No!” You don’t want to admit, considering your age, that he’s stolen your first kiss, like it was something owed to him instead of yours to give when you chose to, and you certainly don’t want to admit that you liked it. You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the people still watching either, which is undoubtedly why he chose this as the place for your first meeting, where you would be cuffed by propriety, giving him advantage over you. Kings didn’t have to worry about propriety— Who was there to scold them for bad behaviour?

Had John ever worried about that sort of thing? Perhaps that was why your father had so militantly kept him away from you, not because of the threat to the crown, but the threat to your virtue. A man that would so casually waltz past all social convention would find no resistance from a sheltered, shy princess. Perhaps if you had been more bold— Perhaps if you were more bold now you would be able to tell him off.

“I don’t appreciate being plucked from my home and manhandled by you and your knights,” you hiss, plucking courage from thin air. You push against his chest again, and this time he lets you go, but it only makes you angrier, because you both know he only did so because he chose to. “What do you want, John? Let’s attend to business so I can leave as soon as possible.”

He glances behind you, at his knights, an eyebrow raised. “Well, you certainly aren’t going anywhere tonight, are you? We can chat properly over the evening meal.” He sweeps you along, a hand between your shoulders, where his thumb touches bare skin, toying with the edge of your shirt. “I’ll show you to your room, hm? You can wash up and change, if you’d like. Although I must say, this country mouse attire looks rather sweet on you.”

“I don’t think any of my old clothes will fit anymore,” you say tartly. You’re certainly not the weak, spindly thing you used to be, the sapling struggling to grow in your father’s shadow. Your time with Kate has done you good, made you stronger and filled out soft curves. Joy is expansive, and it takes up space that you never would have dared to occupy before.

“Of course not,” he says. “I’ve had new things made for you. Gaz’s sister reached out to Kate for your measurements.”

“Why would she— You had no right to ask for such a thing!” you say hotly. Now that you’re alone in the hallways, you feel more at ease speaking your mind.

He’s unperturbed by your anger, still smiling. “Perhaps not. But I thought it important to stand ready, should you ever decide to come home.”

“This is not my home any longer.”

John hums, his hand sliding down to your hip, tugging you closer to his side. “This will always be your home, princess,” he says matter-of-factly, like there’s no room for argument, the way he sees it.

He tries to follow you into your room, but you quickly shut the door in his face, nearly hitting him. He manages to jump clear, and you can hear his laughter on the other side. You’re getting a bit tired of these men thinking that it’s funny when you hold your ground against them, but you’re not yet sure how to get them to listen when they (and especially John) are so used to getting exactly what they want. It strikes you that you’ll probably have plenty of time to figure it out, since you don’t think you’ll be going home as soon as you'd like.

Kyle and Johnny seem like your most likely allies. And perhaps Ghost, since he told you more than he was supposed to already. Anyone else would be too worried about drawing the king’s ire and getting in trouble or losing their jobs, but those three aren’t just his knights. They’re his friends too.

And as far as you’re concerned, friends don’t let friends keep women imprisoned for indeterminate amounts of time.

You wash up, and parse through the closet for something to wear, frowning slightly at your options. There’s nothing wrong with any of the dresses you find— Everything is beautiful, elegant, well-made, in colours that suit your complexion, made of gorgeous, rustling silk. But they also all have closures at the back, long rows of delicate buttons that will be a nightmare to do up yourself. After so many years living independently, you resent the idea of someone having to help dress you. Perhaps that was why John tried to follow you, so he could be there to offer a hand.

How altruistic of him.

You fantasize about kicking him hard in the shins with the work boots that you sadly left at home, and choose a dress in a deep plum colour, getting as dressed as you can. You consider waiting to ask whoever comes to collect you for dinner, but you suspect that that might be John. You’re just about to wander out into the hallway to see if you can find a member of the castle staff to aid you, when you hear a shout outside, and laughter.

You press one hand to you chest to keep the dress from falling away from your skin inappropriately, and peer over the edge of the balcony. Johnny, Kyle and Ghost are in the courtyard below, Ghost and Kyle sitting on the fountain edge, and Johnny doing a dance that seems to be entirely hopping and kicking, while balancing a knife’s point on the tip of his finger.

“Excuse me,” you call down, smiling as prettily as you can muster. Johnny stops dancing and drops his knife entirely, but blessedly doesn’t try to catch it. “Could one of you give me a quick hand? This dress has so many buttons.”

They look at each other for a moment, and volunteer as one, Kyle and Ghost immediately falling into bickering over who should help you. Johnny looks at the ground and up to you a few times rather than fight with the others, and takes a running leap, fingers catching on the balcony floor. He swings a few times before popping up, catching the railing and clambering over with surprising grace. “I would be happy to help ye, sweetpea. An’ Ah’m sorry abou’, er, lickin’ yer wrist earlier. Was a wolf awl mornin’, cannae always shake the compulsion straight after a shift.”

“Apology accepted,” you say, reaching up with both hands and scratching the stubble under his chin gently. He leans into your palms with a groan, letting you guide him down to your level so you can kiss the tip of his nose. “I know you’re a good boy, Johnny. You were just excited.”

“I was,” he admits, cheeks turning a little pink. “They awl met ye before, and they talk about ye sometimes, ye ken? An’ yer even nicer an’ bonnier up close. Ah’m glad I didna try to lick yer face. Ye didnae look very happy with Price doin’ it.”

“He was very forward. It’s not the sort of thing I appreciate. I don’t intend to let him walk all over me just because he’s the king now.” You release Johnny’s jaw and turn so he can get to work on the buttons, pulling your braids out of the way over your shoulder. “It seems like he’s a little too used to getting his way.”

“Ah, weel, he’s stubborn as awl hell, sweetpea. No’ really his fault, he’s just righ’ more of’en than no’, ye ken? An’ when yer never wrong, ye never learn ta compromise.”

“Surely he’s not always right,” you say. “No one’s infallible.”

He laughs, fingers stalling against your back. “Yer righ’ of course. But Ah’m never the one to catch the old man bein’ wrong. So I dinnae ken if he admits it. I would be surprised.”

“Do you know what he wants from me?” you ask. “It seems odd that he let me live in peace all these years, only to drag me back now.”

“I dinnae ken awl the details, princess. Figure it’s sommat ta do with yer cousin raisin’ an army over across the western border, aye? Probably wants ye to scold the wee rascal for him.” He continues buttoning, and then stalls again. “Aw shite. Missed one.” You feel him begin to undo the buttons he was just working on.

You press your fingers to your mouth to stifle a giggle. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Shouldn’t be asking so many questions.”

“Aw no, I dinnae mind none. S’nice ta talk ta ye. Always thought princesses’d be all stuck up and snooty. But yer no’ at awl. Ahve been ta yer story hour at the market once or twice too. Think it’s nice ye take pity on us buggers that cannae read well. An ye choose good stories.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” you say.

“Usually go in on four legs. No one minds another mangy dog, so long as I don’t get too close or growl at the bairns. Can hear better tha’ way too, aye? Blacksmith always let me lay down beside his shop.” He marches two fingers across your shoulder playfully. “Awl done.”

“Thank you, Johnny.” You turn to look at him again, regarding him thoughtfully. It doesn’t take much to turn him from a large, dangerous man to an eager to please puppy. Something to tuck into your pocket for later.

“Ye can call me Soap, if ye like. The lads do, most of the time. An’ the boss man. But Johnny is good too. Like hearin’ it from ye.” He looks a bit bashful, twisting his fingers together absently now that he has nothing else to fuss with, bright blue eyes cast down and half hidden by his long, dark lashes. “Ah ken it’s no’ what yer hopin’ for, but I hope ye stay a while. S’nice. Feels like there’s an empty space around here, and ye’d fill it an’ then some.”

“I’ll think about it,” you say. “I’m sure it mostly depends on how angry your, um, boss man makes me.”

“He’s no’ a bad sort.” Johnny instantly leaps to John’s defense, a touch of anxiety colouring his voice. He wears every emotion on his sleeve, another useful something to know. “Been good ta me, when lot’s of folk think I’m no’ much more’n a monster.”

“I’ve never heard of a werewolf that can shift at will like you do,” you muse. “You must have remarkable self control.”

Something dark flits across his face, but he does his best to hide it behind his crooked grin. “Naw, no’ really. S’a story, but no’ one I want ta tell righ’ now.”

“That’s alright,” you tell him gently, placing your hand on top of his. His knuckles are rough, scarred from a lifetime of hitting things hard. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I’ll listen, if you do want to talk.”

“Yer goan ta turn me intae a big softie at this rate,” he says, waving off your words with a laugh. “Come oan, Sweetpea. I’ll walk ye ta dinner. Figure ye know the way, but Ah’m told it’s polite to escort a lady.”

“Very polite,” you assure him, placing your hand on his offered arm. “Thank you, Johnny.”

His grin is infectious, and he puffs up his chest slightly, pleased as punch to receive your approval. You descend the stairs, picking up your skirts with your other hand so they don’t drag, and John appears at the bottom of the steps, his expression turning carefully, diplomatically blank when he sees you on Johnny’s arm.

“Perfect timing,” he says. “I was just about to come get you. Thank you, Soap, I can take her from here.”

“How very kind!” you return, gripping a little tighter to Johnny’s arm so he doesn’t run off just yet. “Johnny was nice enough to help me with my dress. All these buttons— I had no idea that button closures were the style these days.”

John’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit, like he’s not sure if you’re being earnest or not. “Nor did I,” he says evenly. Liar.

“It can be so hard to keep track of these things.” You send Johnny another bright smile. “Will you be joining us?” you ask sweetly.

Johnny looks at John uneasily. “Oh, n-no, I dinnae think—”

You curl into him slightly, placing your hand on his chest, drawing his attention back to you and away from the disapproving frown that’s beginning to form on John’s face. “Oh, nonsense. In fact, would you mind fetching Kyle and Ghost as well? We all had such a pleasant afternoon, and I feel like we’ve only just begun catching up.”

Johnny’s fingers catch on the lace hemming your trailing sleeve, his cheeks pink and eyes focused on your face. “Oh, aye, anything ye like, princess.”

“Thank you so much Johnny. You have been so helpful today. I really appreciate it.” You release him, and he dashes off without a second thought or glance to John for approval. “What a sweet boy he is,” you say to John as you flit to his side, all innocence, well aware that Johnny can still hear you. “Shall we?”

John gives you a searching look, still not certain if you’ve disrupted his plans on purpose or just by being far too sweet. “I had intended for dinner to be just the two of us.”

“Now John, that would hardly be appropriate,” you lightly scold. “The two of us, alone without a chaperone? What would people say? If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to put me in a compromising position.”

His lips twitch under his moustache, the ghost of a smile appearing in his eyes. “Perish the thought. Didn’t think of the implication, is all.” He opens the door to what had once been your father’s private dining room, but hesitates in the doorway. “Perhaps we should wait for the lads,” he says thoughtfully. “Since you’re concerned with the optics of being alone with me.”

You raise your eyebrows. “They’ll be along in a moment, no? I’m not sure what you think could happen in a few minutes, but I’m sure you’re capable of behaving yourself for that long.” You sweep past him, unconcerned, and he follows, letting the door fall shut behind him, the latch clicking shut loudly in the otherwise silent room. You cast about for a conversation that you can fling up between the two of you like a flimsy shield, your tongue suddenly heavy again. John has a way of sucking up all the air in a room, and he feels nearly as large and imposing as Ghost in a confined space like this. You don’t feel safe like you would with Ghost. You feel like a wobbly-legged fawn caged in with a blue-eyed wolf.

And you would feel less like that if you were in here with the man who really is a blue-eyed wolf. You don’t think the man standing before you will melt with a few kind words or a soft touch. He’ll only take it as permission to push you further.

“Your inexperience is showing,” John says conversationally, taking a step toward you.

You take a hasty step back. “How so?”

He takes another step forward. You take another back. The pattern repeats until he has you backed up against the mantle. “A lot can happen in just a few minutes, sweetpea.” His thick fingers curl around your jaw, forcing you to face him when all you want to do is sink into the floor or vanish entirely. “Could do anything I liked to you, alone like this. You’re right to be cautious.” His hand slides lower, callouses brushing your skin, raising goosebumps along the back of your neck and prickling all the way down your spine. His palm rests on your throat, so he can measure the nervous flutter of your pulse. You swallow nervously, and you know he can feel it.

Still, he doesn’t squeeze, and there’s no threat in his eyes. Worse, there’s a promise, and heat that could spark into a blaze with the slightest provocation.

“It’s a good thing you’re a man of honour, then.” You mean it as a challenge, a reminder of the rules of engagement. You came prepared for a game of chess, and he’s knocked all the pieces onto the floor and lunged at you across the board. Your words come out whisper soft, plaintive instead of confident.

“A good thing indeed.” He takes a step back, and then another, his hand falling away, leaving you standing by the mantle, clinging to it for support.

It was a good thing the fireplace is cold, this time of year, or you might be tempted to throw yourself in just to save yourself the embarrassment of being so completely set off balance.

“Here.” John returns to your side, this time leaving enough space for you to breathe, and offers you a glass of wine. White wine, like he remembers your preferences somehow. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, and you try not to shake from the force of whatever it is that he stirs up in you.

It’s too vast to identify, and threatens to engulf you, swallow you whole. It’s an ocean, as deep and blue as his eyes, and you’re already struggling to stay afloat. You feel like the only things keeping you from drowning are your righteous anger and sense of self-preservation. But recognizing the danger he poses to you, to your freedom, if not your life, doesn’t pluck you from the water or save you from the circling shark. You don’t know how to do that. You’re not sure if you want to.

“I should apologize,�� he says gently. “For greeting you the way I did earlier. I’d dreamt of our reunion so many times that it felt like the most natural thing in the world, kissing you like that. I should have better kept myself in check.”

You sip your wine. It’s sharp and not too sweet, just the sort of thing you used to like, and many times better than what you’ve had for years now. But the taste only reminds you of things best left forgotten, sour remnants of a life you wished to leave behind. Even this room, redecorated to another man’s preferences, feels as oppressive as your father’s presence in life.

Maybe it’s the weight of the crown, that bends and twists even the most upright men, because you already see the makings of a tyrant in John. So used to getting his way already, he expects you to fall into line, do as your told, take your rightful place at his side, on his arm.

In his bed.

“Are you going to?” you ask.

He’s confused by that, a frown settling between his brows. “Going to what, sweetpea?”

“Apologize. Saying you should apologize is not the same as actually being sorry.”

He’s entirely taken aback by that, rendered speechless. It’s probably been years since anyone checked him like that, and it sends a bit of a thrill through you to be the one to do so. He has the advantage in this battle you’ve waged against him— He’s larger and stronger, he claims authority that you’ve rejected, he has allies where you have none— but you’ve still managed to strike a blow, with honesty as your only weapon.

The other three men finally join you, snapping the tension in the room, clearing it away like cobwebs.

Well, most of the tension, anyway. You sit between John and Ghost, rather than take the chair opposite John. You have no desire to be forced to bear that heavy stare for the entire meal. Kyle and Johnny sit opposite you, and you maintain light conversation with the two of them. Ghost sits to your right, his mask tipped up enough for him to eat, his scarred mouth and jaw visible to you for the first time. His gloves are off too, revealing broad, powerful hands littered with fine scars, and a few deep ones too. Most of them are obviously blade wounds, but there’s a particularly deep one, a chunk of missing flesh between his thumb and forefinger on his left hand that keeps drawing your eyes back.

“Me’n Nox ‘ad a misunderstandin’ when we first met,” he says, unprompted, noticing your glances. “She took a chunk outta me. Was a good thing she was still small, or I’d’ve lost my whole ‘and.”

“Small!” Johnny says with a snort. “The wee beastie was bigger than me!”

“You were a runt,” Ghost chuckles, “but I s’pose she was still plenty big. Got ‘er talons sunk pretty deep in my thigh too. Got ‘er to listen to reason in the end though. She din’t know I was tryin’ to ‘elp.”

You see that same darkness in Johnny’s eyes as earlier, so you change the subject, asking about a burn on Ghost’s wrist. He starts in on a tale of hunting an outlaw mage, with plenty of interjections from Kyle, and then Johnny as well, until he gives up trying to tell it, and lets the younger men take over.

You feel his attention on you for a while after that, like he knew what you did and why.

John is pensive, still ruminating on what you said, quiet over the meal. It must not be that great a change from usual, because it doesn’t seem to bother the other three in the least. He insists on walking you to your room once the hour grows later, however, and leans against your door frame.

“You’re right,” he says, catching your hand so you can’t go inside and shut the door in his face for a second time that day. “I didn’t apologize. And I’m not sorry. I know I should be, and I won’t do it again, but I can’t say I feel all that badly about it.”

It’s something, at least. A concession, if not an apology. “Thank you, John.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, and his thumb is rubbing distracting circles over your knuckles. “Is there something else?”

“We never talked business.”

“No. But I know what you want, John, and the answer is no. I want to go home, I have a life to return to, and I don’t belong here any longer.” The disappointment is clear on his face, but he only nods. You continue, encouraged by his silence. “I will, however, make a public statement of support, in whatever way you need. I imagine my cousin will wish to send a witness, to ensure I’m not being coerced. I will stay until then, and then you will allow me to go home. Is that sufficient?”

He thinks about it for a moment, his thumb tapping against your hand now. “I suppose it will have to be.”

“Then it’s settled. Goodnight, John.” You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip just enough to keep you anchored to him.

“Wait.” He tugs you a step closer. “May I kiss you?”

You roll his request around in your mind for a moment. He’s willing to accept that you won’t marry him, without so much as a fight. You can’t deny that you want to say yes either, and you have just enough wine in you to make you bold, but not reckless. “One kiss,” you reply. “No more than that. And then I am going to bed.”

He cups your face and stoops to meet you, pressing his lips to yours tenderly, without any of the brash possessiveness of earlier. Just sweet and slow, coaxing you to open up for him. You relax into his touch, parting your lips, a soft little whine escaping your throat, pulling an answering groan from him as he licks into your mouth. You have to grip his wrists just to stay upright, the sound turns your knees and resolve to jelly, the taste of good whiskey and smoke from his after dinner cigar lingering on your tongue as he pulls away.

His eyes are fever-bright, and his breathing ragged as you release each other. “Goodnight, sweetpea,” he says softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You slip into your room and lean against the door, knees still weak, desire simmering inside you. The kiss had been a bad idea, because all you can think of now is asking for another, and another, and another.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

#Fantasy AU #cod mw fanfiction #x reader #x fem reader #141 x reader #heavy weighs the crown #Uh oh sweetpea

[therainscene]

Will Byers: Be gay do crime, amirite?

Growing up means putting away childish things, choosing between marrying a woman or remaining celibate, becoming a wage slave with no free time, and accepting that this is how life works.

Fuck that!

Will would rather spend his time doing things he actually enjoys with the people he loves, and if he has to break some of society’s rules to do so... well, clearly the rules were bullshit to begin with and deserve to be broken.

But the spark of defiance we see in the van is a smoldering ember compared to the fire of S3.

Will jokes about Vegas and D&D, but that’s all it is -- a joke. Getting to spend the rest of his life with Mike has begun to feel like a silly fantasy, akin to using superpowers to commit fraud as a minor.

It doesn’t occur to him that Mike’s cries for help could be because he wants to escape comphet, not be pushed further into it. He weeps quietly over his self-inflicted heartache, back turned and mouth smothered, like there’s something unreasonable about his feelings.

What happened to the brazenly authentic boy who openly admitted that he expected to spend his life with Mike? Where’s the offended boy who called Mike out on his performative heterosexuality? The furious boy who screamed and sobbed and swore as he felt society’s homophobic standards closing in on him with all the inevitability of growing older?

Will is authentic and headstrong, but even he is getting slowly crushed under the boot of forced conformity.

Some of the GA think this is an acceptable outcome; just an inevitable part of growing up gay in the 80s. It’s realistic and relatable. Great queer rep!

Others decide that Will should become a villain -- after all, hasn’t he earned the right? The narrative has done nothing but torture him, so doesn’t he deserve to go a little apeshit? As a treat?

Henry Creel: Be gay do crime, amirite?

Henry is scathingly critical of society’s rules. He refuses to compromise his true nature by playing along, and no amount of punishment can force him to change.

His backstory is presented in a way that makes it difficult to sympathize with him -- I mean, ok, maybe he didn’t deserve to be jailed and tortured when he was just a child, but surely the Soteria was necessary, right? He’s dangerous.

But the real threat that Henry poses isn’t his willingness to kill -- it’s the power he has to rewrite the rules. And both he and his oppressors know it.

By locking him up (forcing him into the closet), torturing him (subjecting him to homophobia), and implanting him with Soteria (castrating him), they stripped him of agency and reduced his options to a rock and a hard place:

Continue suffering in obedient silence.

Go apeshit and commit whatever atrocities are necessary to escape. Embrace his role as the villain in a story where people like him aren’t allowed to be the heroes anyway.

(Hmm, those are same options that Will is expected to choose from. What an interesting yet surely meaningless coincidence.)

The tragedy of Henry’s story is that he did end up conforming to the rules in the end.

He didn’t choose the option his oppressors would have preferred, but he did choose an acceptable one -- he became the monster they’d already branded him as. Once upon a time his fellow outcasts might have gladly allied with him, but now they’re forced to stop him.

I love the symbolism of this shot. El’s rainbow is larger and pushes Henry back, while his is upside down, foreshadowing how the battle is going to end -- but more than that, it symbolizes their approaches in battle.

The motivation that Henry is using comes from the same place as El’s -- a desire for self-preservation, to defy authority, to fight for the rights of fellow outcasts -- but his has been twisted. He advises her to use a memory of injustice that makes her feel angry and sad...

...and while it’s very effective, it’s not enough. It isn’t until she thinks of a memory that makes her feel loved that she’s able to gain the upper hand.

Interestingly, the lights surge around her as she does this, bathing her in an ethereal white glow:

It fits the symbolism of the rainbow room perfectly -- after all, what is white light if not a focused rainbow?

But more importantly: where have we seen this before?

Will Byers carries the light with him wherever he goes, because he has the benefit of something Henry was cruelly robbed of: the unconditional love and acceptance of his family and friends, which helped hinder society’s efforts to crush the authenticity out of him.

So why should Will suffer the same fate as Henry? What’s stopping him from being the hero and earning the happy ending he wants, instead of the tragic ending homophobes expect him to settle for?

Like Henry, Will has the power to rewrite the rules -- and this time, they’re actually going to be rewritten.

#stranger things #will has powers #byler #will byers #henry creel #el hopper #my analysis

[iamcalmdammit]

Take it out on me || [Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader]

Note: The final chapter! Part 1 and part 2 are here, but you don't need them to read this. Ghost is super frustrated before he can finally get you. What do you think?

Long days passed during the mission with Ghost fantasizing about having mind-blowing sex with you in different situations whenever he laid his eyes on you. It was hard to focus with you around and he had to behave as he wasn't supposed to let the others know what was starting between the two of you. But he wanted to touch you, he wanted to tease you to make sure you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

When he finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel when the team went out for a drink, he couldn't help himself and secretly put a hand on your knee, his long fingers grabbing it firmly before moving closer to your inner thigh. You brushed his hand off over and over again, but he didn't give up because he enjoyed the way you tried to hide the mixture of annoyance and arousal you felt.

Once the team temporarily got over the news that Makarov was in the picture again, the six of you departed and Ghost made sure the two of you headed in different directions to avoid suspicion. There was a randevous point you had agreed on previously, so he tried to get there as soon as possible as he was the one with the longest detour. The recurring thought of soon having you in his arms made him excited both physically and mentally, so he tried hard to think about anything but you.

A wide, predatory smile crawled on his lips under the mask when he saw you on the street, waiting for him with your eyes fixed on the screen of your phone. You were so busy that you didn't notice him sneak behind your back and wrap his arms around your body to pull you against his chest. "You shouldn't be this careless, I could be some creep trying to hurt you," he whispered in your ear.

"I was beginning to think you forgot about me," you told him as you turned your head to the side to look at him. "But I'm glad you're here. Now, will you finally tell me where we're going?"

Laughing, he rested his chin on the top of your head and just tried to enjoy this moment. You were free to do whatever you wanted now. After he recharged enough in your presence to function properly again, he took your hand and began to pull you in the direction of the hotel where he reserved a room for the two of you. He didn't want to waste your precious time on silly dates and wait even longer. No, he wanted to spend the night with you under the sheets.

You looked over at him a few minutes later and asked, "Come on, where are we going?"

"I'm not telling you yet."

"Please."

"No."

Then you came to an abrupt halt, let go of his hand and stubbornly folded your arms over your chest. "You either tell me or I'm not going," you stated defiantly.

Letting out a groan, Ghost closed his eyes for a moment. "Why do you have to be so difficult?" he asked you seriously. He didn't understand why you didn't trust him enough to follow his lead without a word. But maybe you were only an obedient little girl in his fantasies and not in real life.

"Because you don't give me a choice."

"Okay, you wanted it," he told you, having had enough of your bratty behavior. Before you could even shoot him a questioning look, he picked you up and put you over his shoulder.

"Hey, no, put me down!" you objected, but he didn't care. You were resisting his request to follow him, so now he was ready to do something about it. "Please, I don't wanna be up here, I'm afraid of heights!"

"Bullshit, you're not," he informed you.

But you didn't give up. "I am suddenly. Come on, this is ridiculous, people are watching!" you tried.

Ghost ignored your resistance and began to walk in the direction of the hotel with you while carefully avoiding passers-by. If this is how you wanted to play, he was willing to play along. To be perfectly honest, it just made him want you more, and he was already planning how to punish you for behaving like this in public.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a police car stop on the other side of the street, and soon two officers were walking in your direction. He was sure they came that way for something or someone else, but then one of them spoke up behind his back.

"Miss, is everything alright?" he asked carefully.

When Ghost turned around, he noticed the man having a hand over his Taser just in case. Great. Just great. This was all he needed, being stopped by cops when he was already losing his patience with you.

"Yes, why?" you asked, completely oblivious to the problem. How could you be so dense sometimes?

"Is he bothering you?" asked the other one.

You pointed at the man holding you. "Who? Him?"

"Yes."

"Oh, he does," you replied with a laugh.

"Y/N," Ghost warned you, fighting the urge to cover his masked face with his hand in embarrassment.

It took you a second to finally catch up. "Oh, wait, you think he's kidnapping me or something? If this is because of the mask, I can assure he's just… cautious. You know, because of covid and all," you told them and he truly wished you would stop talking now.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine, officers. He's my boyfriend," you said cheerfully. "But thank you, really."

When they finally walked back to their car, Ghost decided to put you down and grabbed your chin to forcefully make you look up at him. "Maybe you should think before you open your mouth the next time." He leaned close to you. He was so close that if he didn't have a mask on, he could have easily kissed you. "So I'm your boyfriend, huh?" he asked teasingly.

"Oh, shut up," you told him as you playfully punched his arm.

"But I liked to hear it."

This time he reached out to take your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as you began to walk again. He enjoyed this, just feeling the warmth radiating off your skin through his gloves that told him you were alive and by his side finally. It wasn't something in his dreams or fantasies, it was real now.

His patience began to slowly melt away when you reached the hotel's entrance. By the time you stepped into the elevator, he had to force himself to let go of your hand and look somewhere else because otherwise he would have had you pinned against the wall with your legs wrapped around him. But you weren't alone in there so he had to behave, no matter how hard that was.

Just one touch. Only your little fingers touching was enough to flip a switch in his brain. The two of you were standing in the back behind a middle aged woman, and once he made sure she couldn't see anything, he sneaked a hand under your shirt, running his fingers up your spine until he reached your bra. You gave him a questioning look as you bit on your lower lip to keep yourself quiet, but he only smiled under the mask and unhooked your bra with ease.

When you reached the floor your room was on, he grabbed you by the hand and dragged you out of the elevator. The hotel room's door barely closed and he already had his mask and gloves thrown on the floor and his lips pressed against yours. He'd been waiting for this moment for so long that he was now going crazy over the thought of waiting even one minute longer.

So he hurriedly took off your shirt and bra then moved on to your jeans without his lips ever leaving yours. But then you tried to pull away, to build some distance between the two of you, and he couldn't help but let out a frustrated groan as he let you take a step back. "What now?" he asked, not even trying to hide his annoyance.

You licked your swollen lips as you put your weight from one foot to another. "Are you sure about this? Shouldn't we wait, like going on a few dates before ending up in bed?" you wondered hesitantly.

Were you fucking kidding him? "I think it's been a long time coming, love," he replied, moving one cautious step closer. "Why, you have doubts?"

"No doubts here," you said with a laugh.

"Then why the fuck did you ask that?"

You shrugged, your wicked smile challenging him as you watched him get closer to you again. "Frustrating, isn't it? Take it out on me, big boy," you told him.

And you didn't have to say twice.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty #modern warfare ii #modern warfare

[mermaidgirl30]

Love Amidst The Blue Sneak Peek

A/N: I will most likely drop the first chapter this weekend, so here is a little sneak peek of my sailor/treasure hunter Joel and mermaid au. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged 💙

Joel clings to the side of the boat as he digs his nails into the warm, polished wood. He turns his head to watch his crew stay busy on the deck as they bustle around and drag their worn out shoes against the floorboards. He sighs and takes another look at his intricate map, tracing his finger over every crevice of the parchment until he gets frustrated and throws his head up to look out on the bright horizon.

As soon as he looks up, he stops cold as he spots the gleam of a sparkling tail in the near distance. It’s not just a tail, there’s a girl leaning up against a rock that’s staring right back at him. He rubs his eyes to make sure it’s not the sun playing tricks on his mind, but she still appears there in the same spot just staring blankly at him. He sees a young woman who’s beautiful, dreamlike, something he only thought was a fantasy. He sees you, a mermaid…

Mermaids aren’t real, mermaids can’t be real. But how does he explain what he clearly sees now? You are very much real.

His ears ring with white noise, the sounds of his crew scrubbing along the deck nearly nonexistent now. It’s just you and him, staring at each other as if you’re the only two people out on the calm waters. It’s just the gentle breeze kissing his tanned skin and the distant noise of waves lapping against the rock that you so subtly lean against, eyes locking with each other as if the world crashes on its side to bring the two of you together.

He grabs his golden telescope, looking through the lense as you come into view just inches from his vision. The sight of you nearly knocks the breath out of him, his eyes widen as he takes in the beauty that sits before him. He thinks you’re the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on, thinks you’re absolutely divine, a treasure that should be well cared for.

His eyes trail down your lush curves, taking in the dusty coral colored seashells that cover your breasts, scanning every inch of your shimmering tail that’s soft pink as it flicks back and forth against the water. It’s almost sparkling like diamonds, maybe even soft to the touch. He wonders what you feel like, what you sound like. He bets your voice is like an angel’s, captivating and melodic like nothing he’s ever heard on earth. He wonders what your hands feel like, how they’d feel entwined in his own.

You should swim away, dive back underneath the blue water, but you can’t move. You can’t look away from the handsome stranger. You want to know his name, want to ask him all about what land life is like, want to know if his voice is as soft as his tousled curls look like, want to see him again and again…

“Cap’n, whatcha lookin’ at?” Jasper asks as he comes up to Joel and nearly sends him over the edge of the boat. Joel drops the telescope from his unsteady hand, and it lands in a heap on the wooden deck. He scrambles to pick it up, and when he stands up and looks back out at the rock he sees that you’re gone.

He huffs out a sigh and shakes his head slowly. “It was nothing, Jas. Just thought I saw something. Was only a dolphin, nothing else,” he says with a hint of sadness on his tongue, wishing you were still on the rock so he could look into your entrancing eyes.

“Too bad it wasn’t a mermaid. Could’ve made you a true believer,” Jasper laughs as he hits Joel on the back of the shoulder with more force than he meant to.

“Yeah, too bad…” Joel says quietly as he stares at the vacant rock, doing nothing for his peace of mind as he wishes you were still there.

#joel miller smut #joel miller #mermaid au #sailor! joel #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel miller pedro pascal #joel x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel the last of us #protective joel

[astarionancuninswife]

symphony (bard!tav x astarion)

My first official fic for BG3 and this was a fun one to start with!! The song that came on shuffle was Cody Fry's I Hear A Symphony - Live From Ocean Way Nashville. The first thing I thought of was a bard playing it, so that's what I went for. Kinda short, but a little drabble never hurt anyone.

Like I said, this is my first BG3 fic and therefore my first Astarion fic. I've privately written him recently, but this is my first public release of my interpretation of him, so I'm sure there's some discrepancies in his characterization. That being said, I'm always open to hearing constructive criticism, just be gentle with me.

Please enjoy!

word count: 840

warnings: N/A unless sweet sweet fluff is something you're wishing to avoid... or if you don't like real life songs being used in fantasy settings lol

ao3 | guidelines for requests | masterlist

It was just like any other night at the camp, a strange mix of people forced into companionship by unlikely circumstances minding their own business. Shadowheart sitting in thought at her tent, Wyll making conversation with Karlach about their adventures of the day, and so on. Tav is sure the others are doing interesting things as well to wind down for the night, but she isn't too concerned about them. Instead, she sits by the fire, pretending to simply be staring off into space as she strums her lyre idly, but in truth, she's watching a certain vampire across the way. He's reading a book like he often does. She's not sure of what the contents are, she's not interested in it anyway. 

She stops her hand for a moment and starts thinking of the song she had composed a few nights before and just hadn't been brave enough to share until now. It was rare for the bard to be nervous; her pieces usually were just silly little ditties made up on the spot about something funny that happened while out with a small party of her companions. Those didn't warrant a fear of criticism. 

This, however, was different, it's fully written and memorized. It's special, it's a song with a specific muse. And she's not quite sure how this muse will react when he hears this pseudo-confession.

After some thought, she softly begins to sing with her eyes closed, "I used to hear a simple song, that was until you came along," she takes a breath to steady her shaky voice, "Now in its place is something new, I hear it when I look at you," she finally opens her eyes with the last word, immediately meeting Astarion's through the flames of the fire. She can't quite read his face, but when can she ever? He's pretty good at keeping his thoughts tucked away from any detection when he wants unless she uses the tadpole connection to enter his mind. She would never though; she understands the need for privacy and consent with everyone, but especially with him.

So, instead, she begins strumming her lyre and continues her song:

With simple songs, I wanted more, Perfection is so quick to bore, You are more beautiful by far, Our flaws are who we really are,

It was then she saw recognition on his face, a smile threatening to grace his lips. He was holding back, but she was fine with that. The corner of her lips become upturned as well, she's more than happy to smile for the both of them at the moment. She stands up, finding her usual confidence again at his acknowledgment. And all at once, in her mind and in this moment, it is just her and him alone in the camp. No one else exists to her.

I used to hear a simple song, That was until you came along. You took my broken melody, And now I hear a symphony.

She does a few vocalizations to fill the gap between the last stanza and the outro, all the while never taking her eyes off the pale elf who has given up on keeping his lips from forming a smile on his face. 

And now I hear a symphony.

She strums a few more notes before ending the song, standing there by the fire with a stupid lovesick grin. She watches as he walks over to her while clapping a few times, "What a beautiful melody," he compliments, "I wonder who could have inspired such a poem."

Tav laughs at his theatrics, rolling her eyes as her cheeks heat up, "A mystery," if he was going to tease her, she'd play the game as well.

"Well, whoever they are, they must certainly be quite special to you."

"He is," she says, her voice filled with nothing but honesty, "I hope I'm even a fraction as special to him…" she trails off, looking at him softly before becoming self-conscious of her implications and looking away.

Astarion is quiet; it takes him a moment to realize how vulnerable she's being in the moment, how honest and open. A soft smile takes form on his lips again before leaning to kiss her forehead, "More than just a fraction, darling, much more," he says gently, just loud enough for her to hear.

After a few seconds of blissfully staring at each other in silence, clapping can be heard from another spot in the camp, followed by Shadowheart quietly scolding Karlach for ruining the bard and rogue's sweet moment. Which is then followed by the others all figuring out who won the bet of how long it would take for one of the two to confess having actual feelings for one another and who would be the one to make the first real move. (Lae'zel won both, plus a bonus prediction of how Tav would confess, though it wasn't much of a surprise considering she carried an instrument around like it's a necessity in life she can't live without.)

#astarion ancunin #astarion ancunin fic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion fluff #baldur's gate 3 astarion #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate fic #baldur's gate 3 fic #bg3 fic #songfic #mine #I still don't know how to properly tag fic posts lol

[docholligay]

The Night Watch by Sarah Waters

THIS IS ALL SPOILERY AND ALL OF IT IS JUST GUSHING AND RAMBLING AND VIBES. NO ACTUAL REVIEW WE DIE LIKE MEN.

I love this book. We all know I love this book. I have read this book at least a dozen time sand we all know I'm going to read it again. I'm never sure whether I like this or Tipping the Velvet more, but I think as a piece of literature, this is the better book. (But Tipping the Velvet is the one I often recommend to people. Sarah Waters can be hard for some people to hang with and Tipping is her fluffiest.)

Kay Langrish, what a fucking piece of work this bitch is. She's so pathetic, and I do sort of resent her for it, but also I love her. I want to beat the shit out of her. She's Poor Little Rich Butch who literally shuts herself the fuck away and gazes out the window all day. She's one of those people for whom the war was the best thing that ever happened to her, and people like this do exist! Some people are great in a crisis, and some people are ONLY good in a crisis. Is it about her being butch and that being easier in wartime? Sure, but Mickey has it even worse and seems to manage being a member of society. (Mickey is the best person in this novel and perhaps of all time. I love her so much, she takes it all in so much stride in her shitty little houseboat, and then she offers it to Kay. Mickey will be played by Lena Oxton in the blorbo adpatation in my head and Kay will be played by Haruka Tenoh) I think Kay is just a fucking rich loser, and I love that for her.

Viv! What a moron. My wife read this book and her takeaway was the the book was about "Gay losers and a token sad straight woman" and she is not wrong. I love how much Viv hates her life in the present day and how pathetic she feels it all is, but she can't get away from it, because! Yes!! I always privately hope that the book will be different this time and there's an afterword where Viv goes and finds Kay and they get together, because I think Viv could be perfectly happy being Kay's wife and being doted on. She wants that! And Reggie will never ever give it to her (blah blah not being into women whatever it's my fantasy afterword and I can do what I want with it)

Speaking of morons let's talk about Helen. I hate Helen and I LOVE her storyline. I love her absolute dedication to ruining her own life. I'm not saying she has to love Kay, I would love to be doted on by Kay but it's not for everyone, and I'm not entirely convinced they didn't get together for any reason other than Helen felt grateful to her. BUT, what about with Julia? What about her insane reactions, the way she barely allows Julia to have friends, the way every time they go a party Helen acts like everyone is trying to fuck Julia? She basically manifests an affair into happening by her constant assumption that it is. IF Julia is sleeping around, of course that's her bad behavior, but let's not pretend like Helen's ridiculous suspicion and quarreling over nothing, her low-key resentment of Julia's success, isn't doing anything.

And Duncan, man, talk about your easily led, whatever's happening is what may as well happen, type. His thing with the junk that he considers 'antique' is so sad. He lives in a little boy's room and is kept like a little boy as a sexual pet and it would be disturbing if it wasn't so much just what Duncan had decided was the logical next step just like killing himself along with Alec. He was happier in fucking prison, it almost seems because there at least everything was just...decided for him.

I wonder if Waters isn't making a commentary about the idea that London and the UK more broadly was "never better than in the Blitz" and all that Blitz spirit stuff which i confess I can be real prone to as well, but I don't live there and am allowed to engage in a bit of romance over a situation that in no way involves me. Is Waters saying, "If we think that we, as a country, city, community, were never better than when we were actively being firebombed, it might just be that we have decided that, and have decided not to make ourselves better than that moment. Anytime, we could decide to be a better London & UK, but we aren't doing that. We're staring at the rubble and wishing we were there." I don't know! I have literally never thought this before it just came to me while writing this, it might be bullshit.

Basically the summary of this novel could be "Four people ruin their own lives because they aren't sure they deserve anything better" and I wouldn't argue with that. I love this book so fucking much.

#doc reads

[infernalmelancholy]

enjoy these two idiots being idiots :)

“You think this is easy for me?” 

Dazai rolls his eyes. “Is that what I said?”

Chuuya’s rage goes from simmering to explosive in an instant, runic red lines climbing like vines up the skin of his arms as he breathes with purposeful rhythm in an attempt to suppress it.

“You’re sure as hell acting like it.”

Dazai scoffs. He doesn’t look up at Chuuya, knowing there’s nothing that’ll sting worse for him than cold dismissal.

“I’m acting like your life isn’t difficult? Do you hear yourself?”

“Oh, I hear myself perfectly fine. I think you’re the one having trouble comprehending the shit you’re saying.”

“Am I?” Dazai asks with a brow lifted in mock curiosity.

“I should’ve known you couldn’t even argue like a normal person,” Chuuya says with a cruelty he can’t have learned from anyone but Dazai. “I guess it’s my fault, expecting Mori’s puppet to act like a human being.”

Dazai glares at him. Chuuya’s face splits with a twisted grin.

“Oh, now he’s mad,” he sneers. “What? Don’t like being faced with the fact that you’re nothing but an obedient little errand boy for the very man you claim to despise?”

“Shut up.”

But Chuuya isn’t one to follow orders. No. He swiftly invades Dazai’s space, their faces inches apart as one word after another leaves him doused in mockery.

“You don’t get to run me into the ground and then expect me to lean up for a kiss. You want care? You want me to be kind and gentle? Earn it,” he hisses. “But if you wanna act like you don’t care about anything and me bending myself over backwards for you means nothing, I’m more than happy to play along.”

“Shut up.”

Chuuya’s rage is horrifying when paired with a smile.

“No, I don’t think I will. See, what I wanna do is get you to step down from your pedestal for five minutes and realize your dismissal of other people doesn’t make them stop existing. You can pretend I don’t have feelings. You can pretend I’ve never stood on a ledge and been one vile thought away from taking the plunge. Be my guest. Drown in your misery and I’ll take mine somewhere else if that’s more convenient. But don’t try to convince me that your twisted little fantasy world is somehow more real than mine.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” Dazai bristles.

 “Better than never saying anything.”

“Is it that I never say anything, or that you never actually listen to me?” 

“You’re the one who doesn’t listen!” Chuuya shouts, verging on desperation. “Do you ever actually take into account anything I say? Anything I feel? Does any of it matter to you?” 

He pauses, his next breath rattling out of him. 

“Do I matter to you?”

“Nothing matters to me,” Dazai says, his own anger quickly dissolved by the resignation which settles in Chuuya’s eyes, making them appear dull. He only wishes their roles could have been reversed, that this time spent together could have made him more like Chuuya and not the other way around. But Dazai’s dejection seems to be contagious. He’s seen it in Oda’s eyes, sees it in Chuuya’s now. He wonders if he’ll let anyone close enough to be infected by this curse ever again.

A door slams to signify an ending.

The rest of the night is spent in a lonesome routine.

Dazai closes all his blinds and curtains before shedding only his coat. He crawls into bed, head falling heavily onto the pillow.

His hand tugs absently at the bandages around his neck as he drifts off slowly, swaying thoughtless in the realm between wakefulness and sleep.

The unbreakable darkness that surrounds him isn’t the same one he feels hunting him when he spends too long staring at the city at night, when he’s on the other side of a window, bathed safely in light.

That darkness is one he fears he’s made angry, a darkness watching, licking its teeth until it drags him back into its clutches.

The dark in his room is a different creature.

Through it he can see nothing and therefore, like a child, he believes nothing can see him either.

What’s invisible doesn’t exist.

He falls asleep pretending to die.

#soukoku fic #soukoku #soukoku angst #fanfic in the works #teen soukoku #dark era bsd #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #fic snippet #ao3 #polls

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Author Ask Game

I was tagged by @sam-glade earlier in the month, you can find their post here. Thanks for the tag, Sam!

I'm going to tag @pleasestaywithmedarling and leave an Open Tag for anyone else interested!

I'll answer this for Shattered Dreams

What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

I don't know what the main lesson is. I didn't write it with a lesson in mind :')

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

I used 30+ years of reading fantasy and playing fantasy games as inspiration lol. Like, really. I pickpocketed ideas from all over the place.

My little dragons? Inspired by the fire lizards in Anne McCaffrey's Pern books. Magic system is a combo of actual magic and mind/healing magic. Mind magic inspired by Anne McCaffrey's Talent Series and Mercedes Lackey's Heralds of Valdemar. Brandon Sanderson's laws of magic + rpg magic and skill leveling played a huge role while establishing my magic system. There's more, I'm sure, but I'll leave it there.

As for my races, (fae, seraph, human, ifrit, jinn, undine, aicaya), I pulled the elemental ones from various mythologies, even if I don't follow the mythology in world. My fae are largely inspired by Sarah Maas, but I incorporated a bit of shapeshifting references along with a tad of traditional fairy mythology. Not much though. The humans are based off a european background, the fae a loosely hispanic background, and the seraph a very loose arabic/indian background.

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

My MC, Alaia, just wants to be accepted. Freedom from prejudice and unreasonable expectations would be nice too. Basically, she's an outcast and her (/my) goal is for her to find her place and her chosen family.

I am not here to teach a lesson or inspire or help someone grow. If those things happen along the way, I love that. But I just want to tell a story. Her story.

How many chapters is your story going to have?

I am in the middle of a major editing/revision pass. So far I've added 3 new chapters and consolidated one. The original draft has 49 chapters, though.

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Shattered Dreams is original content that I hope to self-publish, if I can work up the nerve. (and finish editing XD)

When and why did you start writing?

I started writing in 2020, because if my friend could do it, so could I. It was a lot harder than I thought, and more satisfying than I thought, and just. I'm so glad I started writing at long last. It's very literally changed my life.

Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow?

Oh gosh, I have no idea. Everyone is so different... on that note--No advice is one size fits all. Cherry pick that shit. Or ignore it all and you do you!

Writeblrs, writeblrs... shout outs to: @i-can-even-burn-salad, @little-peril-stories, @clairelsonao3, sam tagged me but @sam-glade lol, @outpost51, @winterandwords, @kaiusvnoir, and there's more but i'm running out of nerve to tag people 😂😅

Blank questions below:

What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

How many chapters is your story going to have?

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

When and why did you start writing?

Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow?

#starlit plays tag games #author ask game #shattered dreams

[uarmymoonlight]

"thus with a kiss, i die" - william shakespeare (part 1)

pairing: vampire hunter!jk X vampire!reader

genre: fantasy!au, historical!au, forbidden/secret relationship!au, angst, smut

warnings: explicit depictions of murder and blood, jungkook has a panic attack (twice, actually), fluff 

summary: in the moments prior to jungkook’s first real mission, he tries hard to block out visions of his past while simultaneously, and most importantly, remembering what your kind really is. even if your lips are as sweet as honey and your smiles as bright as the sun, you’re dying just like the rest of the bloodsuckers. he swears. 

author’s note: literally not a single thing here is historically accurate and that’s where the fantasy part of this fic resides, truly, bc vampires exist (real). i slightly based some of the dialogue on william shakespeare’s romeo and juliet - and fun fact, if you didn’t catch it before, the title of the fic is a quote from that play, also. 

words: 4.5K

cross-posted on AO3: to read on AO3, click here.

previous part (teaser) || part 2 teaser || part 2 || main masterlist ||

////

Jungkook’s village’s festivities for Easter Sunday are the best Easter Sunday festivities that have ever existed. He’s sure of it. Because never before in his entire life has he seen so much beauty and such abundance. Granted, he only left his village one time and, yes, he knows he’s only seven years old, but still, surely no other place could top what he’s seeing right in front of him at the moment. 

Jungkook is sitting against one of the smaller maypoles decorated with colored ribbons posted on the edges of the festival, from where he can see all of the area they use for it: a small clearing that has been filled with maypoles, a makeshift stage for the musicians, and many tents for food along with big wooden tables for the feast. Enormous trees surround the area creating a ring, as if isolating that little piece of land from the rest of the world. As if, in that little area walled by trees, the only witness to their existence is God himself.

The sun shines through the trees and on the creek that runs by, the sunlight’s reflection bathing everyone in a glimmering light that feels very much akin to a holy blessing. There’s music playing and there are people dancing and running and playing around wearing the biggest smiles they’ve ever sported as if they don’t have a care in the world. As if most of these people didn’t almost starve last winter. As if most of them won’t starve in the winters that are to come. 

But that doesn’t matter, because for today they get to eat. Because for the past few days every single seed that grew to become a vegetable, every single grain that was used to make bread, every single animal that was killed to provide meat, every single spice the village had has been brought to the clearing to be part of the big feast. The entire clearing looks just like the Garden of Eden. At least, it looks like what Jungkook thinks the Garden of Eden looks like, it feels like what he thinks the Garden of Eden feels like. Beautiful. Plentiful. Peaceful. Reserved. 

“Won’t you come dance, my little bunny?”

His mother asks as she walks over, her right hand pulling his father along. Both panting a little from having just participated in one of the dances. 

“Or will you sit there the whole festival?”

“No, not the whole festival. Just for as long as I can.” 

“As long as you can, is that so?”, his father chuckles “And when won’t you be able to stay here any longer, boy?”

“When it’s time to eat!” 

“Ah, really?” says his mother while his father only smiles wider. “So only food will make you enjoy the festivities?” 

“No, mother. I’m enjoying the festivities sitting here. But only food will make me get up.” 

“Oh, I see. Very well, if that is the case…” 

The woman puts her hands on one of her pockets and pulls out a small piece of marzipan cake, smiling mischievously as her son’s doe eyes grow bigger at the delicacy, the boy’s mouth forming a little “o” of amazement. Jungkook’s already getting up to take the cake from his mother’s hand when something jumps in front of him and grabs it before he can even fully stand up.

A cat. A cat stole his cake.

“My cake! Mother, my cake!” 

“Your cake? It came from my pocket, didn’t it?”

“Quick!” his father intervenes “The one who catches the cat may eat all of the cake!” 

Jungkook has been in this family long enough to know his parents don’t really care about cake. Chase or no chase, Jungkook is the child so he is the one who gets the cake. But he knows his parents care about him and about playing with him, so he doesn’t have to hear his father’s empty challenge twice. Jungkook bolts. 

Him and his parents chase the cat while it runs across the clearing - zigzagging through the maypoles, knocking over those still dancing, going under the big tables, around some of the tents - until the cat reaches the forest. Jungkook follows it, hearing his parents' laughter and footsteps right behind him, sometimes even seeing them in the corners of his eyes. He focuses on the cat, continuing to chase after it into the woods. Jungkook jumps over tree trunks, dodges twigs, steps onto rocks, runs around holes he can see on the earth, hears the crunching of leaves beneath his feet, the birds singing above him, he hears the bees flying past him buzzing his ear, he hears deer running somewhere to his left, he hears a scream. A piercing and terrible scream. A scream so loud Jungkook’s body abruptly stops, the speed at which he was going making him fall over and roll on the dirt. 

A scared Jungkook quickly gets up and calls “Mother!”, looking around him. He doesn’t see nor hear anyone. “Father!”, he tries. But no one comes. 

Again and again and again and again he tries yelling for them. But no one comes. He’s breathing heavy now, from all the running from earlier and the effort of screaming so much. Jungkook starts to feel the pains from his fall, body aching from head to toe. He looks at his surroundings and sees only the gigantic trees, all very close to each other, the direction he had tumbled from isn’t clear to him anymore. The boy spins around wondering where the clearing’s direction might be. He is panting hard. 

“Mother!” 

Like before, nothing. Jungkook doesn’t hear them, doesn’t hear their footsteps, their laughter, nothing. He doesn’t hear them. That’s when he notices that he doesn’t hear anything at all. Not the birds, or the bees, or deer, or any other sound of the forest. It’s a complete silence. 

In that complete silence and solitude, he feels desperation become a fist around his heart. His chest is tight and his vision is blurring and he can’t move because where does he even go? Where is the clearing? Where are his parents?  

Another horrible scream behind him and Jungkook falls to the ground terrified, arms covering his head. 

The screaming stops. He hears something but the screaming stopped. 

Shaking and nearly crying, Jungkook slowly moves around to peek through his arms at the source of the scream.

Right there, just a few steps away from him is the body of his mother drenched in blood, her once lovely face twisted in agony, mouth wide open and eyes rolled back. On top of her sits a hunched figure clad in a dark cloak, its bloodied hands holding his mother’s shoulder while its face is buried in her neck. 

Jungkook lets out a grieving moan and cries. The figure turns to him. Jungkook sees nothing but a bloodied chin. Something in him awakens and he runs, he runs and runs until he trips. 

With a thud, he realizes he tripped and fell on someone, he’s about to ask for help when he sees the blood. He looks at the person’s face and makes a horrified noise when he sees it’s his father, with his face as twisted and his neck as torn as his mother’s. Jungkook’s tears fall on his father’s face as he forces himself to get up once more and keep running. He runs and he runs and he runs and he hears another scream. 

He gets knocked up again and when Jungkook lifts his head, he’s back at seeing his mother’s dead body, hooded figure on top of her. Except now he can see the figure’s blood-painted face. 

Now he can see your blood-painted face. 

So he runs again, he runs again and he trips again and he sees you all bloodied again. So he runs, and he trips, and he sees you all bloodied, so he runs, and he trips, and he sees you all bloodied, so he - 

“Jungkook!”

He wakes up. 

He wakes up in their safehouse. 

“Jungkook!” It’s his brother, Namjoon, saying his name and shaking him awake. 

“I’m awake.”

Namjoon releases a breath and follows the younger one as both sit on the bed, Jungkook panting and sweating. He’s glad for the moments of silence Namjoon allows him to recompose himself before Jungkook has to deal with the questions he knows the other man already has on the tip of his tongue. 

“Go ahead. Ask.”

“Same nightmare?”

He nods, because there’s no point in lying about this. Not to Namjoon, at least, who would've seen right through Jungkook. Both of them had been in this exact position many more times than either of them can remember and Jungkook has shared with the older one more nightmares than days together. 

“It’s that same time of the year, so it makes sense that your thoughts and memories of it are resurfacing. I assume you still can’t see its face?” 

He hesitates. Because, yeah, for many years Jungkook couldn’t see the face of the monster of his nightmares. Until he met you. This is the fourth time this month he’s seen your face in his nightmares. 

“No”, Jungkook says.

Namjoon sighs, “Alright. Good. That’s good. We can’t have you distracted this week, we sent out some scouts who’ve reported that -”, he interrupts himself after taking a look at Jungkook’s state: not breathing as heavily anymore and the cold sweat is mostly gone, but his eyes are still unfocused and looking down, still breathing through his mouth and shoulders slumped. “Sorry. I…We’ll have time to talk about this tomorrow.” 

Before his brother can get up and leave, Jungkook grabs his arm. “No, please. No.” Namjoon sits down again “I-I’m just, I’m fine. I just…Just tell me.”

“Jungkook, you have to-”

“No. Whatever it is the scouts said, I need to hear it. If Easter Sunday will have as many vampires as Jimin thinks there’ll be, I need to know too, because I’ll be there too keeping watch on one of them, remember?” The older man still seems uncertain, so he adds “This is my first mission, brother, you can’t leave me in the dark. You can’t leave me.” 

His brother says nothing for a moment, then nods. 

“Very well. You’re right.”

Namjoon then goes over the information. How they’ve found more dead bodies discarded a few hours away from the city, all the bodies with the same profile - young adults, limbs torn off, broken bones, witchcraft symbols on their bodies, drained of blood. Suspicions that vampire and witches have been working together only growing stronger and more certain, even if they’ve never actually caught two of them together. 

The men then go quickly over the plans for Easter Sunday and after talking about where each hunter will be positioned, listing their weapons and supplies, Namjoon gives him one more task: get more information out of you. 

After a little debate, Namjoon succedes in making Jungkook agree to at least try to sleep a little bit more, since there are still a couple hours to tick by until sunrise. But not before Jungkook promises to go straight to your house as soon as he gets up.

// 

Your house fits you, Jungkook thinks. Or rather, your manor fits you. 

Standing tall over the other houses, the white-stoned building was located just a few miles away from the heart of the city, a low and vine-intertwined wall of its own surrounding the area to separate your family from the commoners. Three towers emerge from the brown roof of the manor, one of them bigger than the others being the most noticeable feature. Behind the manor sits a small, but still beautiful, house for the servants and a little white chapel Jungkook knows your family doesn’t use. The scenario is topped off with a beautiful tulip garden surrounding a big fountain at the front of the house. 

It’s a place as elegant, beautiful, and perfect as you are. At least, on the outside. 

Jungkook walks to the back of your manor, where its walls are separated from a merchant’s shop by a narrow alley. After checking that no one’s in sight, he uses some of the vines to climb over the wall, landing on the other side swiftly with the ease of someone who’s done this many times already. Jungkook is careful to avoid any servants, even if he’s pretty sure your family knows already, and he’s definitely seen a couple maids awkwardly pretend not to notice him. Thankfully, at this time in the morning, only a few of the workers are up. Still, he thinks it’s always better to fall on the side of caution, especially dealing with vampires. And, well, that is part of his whole…how can he put it? Character, he supposes, that he’s been playing for you so far. So he not-so-sneakily goes around the servant’s house, hiding himself behind trees and in shadows until he reaches a point beneath what he knows is your window.

Still partially hidden in the shadows of a tree, he picks up pebbles from the floor and starts chucking them at your window, quietly singing to himself. Soon enough, you show up at the window with a knowing smirk on your face and a playful tone in your voice.

“I know this voice. Is it you, Jungkook? Or is it a busker?”

“Neither, my lady, if both displease you.” 

He hears your little giggle and it slightly pisses him off. Because it’s just so easy with you, to just giggle away everything. And it’s so hard to not giggle back. He finally leaves from under the tree, fully in your sight now.

“Are you crazy, young man? My family will run you off with their brooms if you keep sneaking in.”

“My lady, I’m sure no harm can come to me as long as I’m under your gaze.” 

“How do you even get here, Jungkook?”

“My heart leads me here everytime. Smart thing, isn’t it?” your smile gets wider as your eyes sparkle with a tinge of mischief he’s sure paints his own eyes as well. “It even taught me how to jump over these cruel walls, my lady. It wants to be near its owner, I swear.” 

“Don’t swear. Even if I like to hear it.” 

“Then I’ll take back my swears, only to repeat them again for you.” 

You open your mouth to speak but suddenly stop when someone behind you calls out your name. You turn back to him with a sad smile.

“I have to go. And you must leave.” 

Jungkook panics a little and shouts for you to wait. “Do you really have to go? Can you not come out? Let me take you out for a walk.” 

He sees you look back with a worried look before hurriedly telling him to leave and wait by the shop next to your house, promising to meet him there in a few minutes. 

Jungkook leaves the same way he arrived: sneakingly. Except now more of the household staff is getting up and, as it’s happened before, he sees more than a couple of curious eyes not-so-subtly averting his direction. 

You arrive at the shop shortly after, your maid trailing quietly after you. Jungkook wonders if she knows what you are or if she herself is one of yours. The thought lasts only for a brief moment as you’re soon in front of him , a big smile on your beautiful face. He smiles back, “Time for act II”, he thinks.

“Ready for some fun, my lady?”

“I suppose it’d depend on the kind of fun. What do you have in mind?”

Jungkook only answers with a roguish smirk and then takes your hand, dragging you away. He stops first at a florist to give you a small bouquet composed of lavender, yarrow, iris, and snapdragon. Afterwards, he says he’ll take you to a jewelry shop nearby, to which you answer in between giggles “Is this your idea of fun? Jungkook, you’ll spoil me rotten!” 

“I’ll try my very best to do so, my lady, I swear.” 

You warn him as you did earlier today about his swears while entering the shop. Your maid follows at a small distance. Jungkook knows you’ve been to this before, because he’s seen you and your family come by a few times to do business or to purchase some luxurious pieces. It’s not a particularly big shop, but the size of the building is compensated for by the big size of the gems on the products. 

“Jungkook” you pull on his arm to make him face you, a small smile on your face “What are we doing here?”

“My lady, you know, I spend a lot of time looking at you” you squint your eyes a little bit and Jungkook knows you’re already thinking of how to tease him “So I couldn’t help but notice these beautiful earrings of yours.”

He sees your eyes open and widen a bit, your smile falters a little. 

Your earrings are two bright, blood red ruby stones framed by small diamonds and pearls, all tied together by silver. Oftentimes Jungkook swears he can see the stone move in itself. It’s an alluring, mysterious piece. 

“My lady, I hope you’ll forgive my indiscretion now, but -” you interrupt him with a mock-disapproving look. 

“Jungkook, you’ve never bothered with discretion.”

He smiles and restarts “Well, my lady, you see, I did not mind the indiscretion of all the times before. Nevertheless, now, I mind it, for I do not wish to insult you” Jungkook steps closer to you, “These earrings, were they a gift from another fellow?” 

Your mouth is shaped in a small “o” form, not having expected the question. It takes only a second for you to recover.

“Why?”

“Because if I am to buy you a necklace that compliments these beloved earrings of yours, it’d do me well to know who else buys you jewels.” 

Jungkook sees you hesitate a little before you finally tell him your brothers gave the pieces to you. 

“They’re a family heirloom.” 

He thinks to ask more about it, but as he sees you slightly stepping away from him, gaze looking down, Jungkook decides that’s a battle for another day. 

The owner of the shop, then, comes forward and you and Jungkook get swept by the man as he presents fitting necklaces for you. After a while, you pick a delicate silver chain and a red tear-drop shaped pendant dangling from it. Not nearly as exuberant as your earrings, you, however, assure Jungkook that you like it just as much. 

“It’s extraordinary value was established the moment you meant for it to be a gift for me”, you tell him. “And…Jungkook?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I have something for you too.” You pull out from your pocket a silver locket and place it on his hand. Jungkook takes a look at it and sees that there’s an intricate art engraved on it of leaves and bushes and, at the center, a  little rabbit. Impatient for a reaction, you say anxiously “That is how your mother called you, is it not? Little bunny? I…well, I had hoped I could wait until Easter Sunday, I thought you’d need some strength, but, alas, I wanted to spoil you a little as you’ve done to me.” 

Jungkook keeps staring at the locket, your words being heard but not listened to, being pushed, instead, to the back of his mind as he tries to stay in the moment rather than think about his mother. His mother had a locket with a rabbit engraved as well. You call his name softly once. He forces himself to snap back. 

“I…I-I, yes.” Jungkook shakes his head briefly and blinks a few times “Yes, she did. I…didn’t think you’d remember all that”, he scoffs. 

“Well, I do. To have lost your mother at a young age…I’m sorry, Jungkook.” I am too, he thinks “Smallpox is a terrible disease.” He only nods. 

“Thank you, Y/N.” 

You squeeze his hand and smile at him. Jungkook takes your hand and kisses it, taking a bit longer than needed with his eyes closed.

Your maid clears her throat and he puts your hand respectfully on his arm. With the both of you now wearing your new possessions, you leave the shop. You leave smiling sweetly and he leaves with a heavy heart.

Lost in his own thoughts, Jungkook keeps walking with you by his side.

And it always hits him at the most inconvenient of times that you may actually be a good person. And Jungkook almost feels guilty for plotting your death while you're smiling so sweetly at a little girl as both you and her help a kitten off a tree. But just as soon as the feeling begins, the warnings of his brothers whisper in his mind reminding him how manipulative your kind is - how manipulative you are. His brothers have no reason to lie to him about you or about the stories he's heard since he was a child. The stories of those who took his parents from him, the stories that haunted him, plaguing his dreams with blood and death until he no longer wanted to dream. Stories of those like you.

Jungkook tries to shake off these thoughts and softens his face when he sees you coming back to his side, now that the kitten is free and the little girl is on her way.

"Fourth time this month. Same time, same tree, same cat", you tell him with a smile.

"I don’t understand why Soo-Ah doesn’t just adopt him”, Jungkook scoffs “Would save her the trouble of having to save him every other day.”

“It would. But it’d also take away his freedom of coming and leaving when he wants and of chasing that same squirrel that goes up the tree and disappears. Not to mention one more crucial factor.”

“What?”, he waits confused, eyeing your mischievous smile.

“Helping Soo-Ah with the cat uses up enough of her time that when she reaches the bakery the breads will be fresh out of the oven. She won’t need to wait even a second to get them.”

You give Jungkook another one of your pretty smiles, those he can’t help but answer with a smile of his own, and there it is again. That same feeling from earlier telling him you’re a good person, after all. Fangs and blood-sucking aside.

So Jungkook takes your hand to continue your walk together. It’s only after you’ve entered your house, leaving him with a kiss, that a shadow crosses Jungkook’s face and he heads to meet his brothers, the men waiting hungrily for the right time to kill you.

previous part (teaser) || part 2 teaser || part 2 || main masterlist ||

/////////////

author's notes:

the initial point was for this to be the first and only part, however i'll right a 2nd part bc some things i wanted to put here didn't really seem right. i also have a few ideas for a 3rd part, depending on how the other parts will be received and how i’ll feel about this fic in the future. this is why i ask for you to, if possible, give me feedback or just your general thoughts and impressions of this part. reviews are a great motivation! 

also, as it was said in the beginning, some of the dialogue was inspired by william shakespeare’s romeo and juliet. i used these sources for inspiration and reference: https://pt.slideshare.net/1977LS/peca-teatralromeuejulietaparaescolas and    https://myshakespeare.com/romeo-and-juliet/act-2-scene-2 

fun fact - these are the meanings of the flowers that were in the bouquet jungkook gave to the reader: snapdragon - graciousness, deception / lavender - distrust / iris - faith, trust, wisdom, hope, valor / yarrow - everlasting love. and rabbits almost always symbolize prosperity, abundance, good luck, and fertility.

taglist: @luaspersona @kookpeas

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook vampire #bts x reader #bts fic #bts vampire au #thus with a kiss #my writing #bts #twakid #thus with a kiss i die

[undiscovered-horizon]

[TW: mentions/descriptions of scars, self-harm]

Imagine showing Matt your scars.

Very self-indulgent. Scars mean you survived and you shouldn't be ashamed of them - for something tried to kill you but you persisted.

[Content under the cut due to the sensitive nature of themes included]

The night was hot - as they usually are in July. You weren't sure if the warm, stuffy air kept you awake or maybe the rumbling of the small fan standing in the corner of the bedroom. Not knowing what to do about your insomnia, you just absentmindedly dragged your fingernails across Matt's chest, right next to your head and counted cars that drove past the window.

14,

15,

16 and a motorbike,

17,

"You're not sleeping?" Matt groaned. You had a leg draped across his pelvis, one of his hands rested lazily above your knee and the other circled your waist. Although he shifted beneath you, his palms haven't moved.

"I tried and, honestly, it's so last season."

Matt chuckled at your answer. Being funny at 3am had to be as much of an achievement as laughing at that hour. It was quite odd that it was you who couldn't sleep. Most of the time Matt was the one who stayed up until early morning hours, either keeping Hell's Kitchen in check or simply thinking, dwelling. You were in New York's safest place and even that wasn't enough to get your brain to drift away, to let itself be pulled from reality by gentle waves of fantasy and exhaustion.

"You're gonna wish you were old-fashioned in the morning." His voice was quiet against your hair while he spoke before softly kissing your head. Matt's arm tightened around your waist, bringing you even closer to him. He had this peculiar habit of falling asleep after you. It wasn't even that he wanted to be like that: he simply remained restless until you were sleeping. Matt thought about that quite often and while he never came to a reasonable conclusion, he had a few theories all of which boiled down to the very same thought - he felt a responsibility, maybe a desire, to be the saviour of the day and so this self-appointed duty ended only when you fell asleep.

Smiling to yourself, you closed your eyes in an attempt to sleep, again. His regular, deep breaths kept you drowsily content, peacefully treading the line between realms of reality and dream. It was this perfectly comfortable state of hesitation where your mind slipped between consciousness and unconsciousness, leaving you only to wonder which sounds and thoughts were real and coherent.

"You have a scar here?" he asked in a hushed tone. There was a hint of fascination in his voice as it usually is with lovers discovering pieces of each other. His fascination, however, was quickly gone as his pleasantly rough hand moved along your skin, feeling more bumps: too regular and frequent to be a complete accident. Matt's brows furrowed and your heart sank, only then, among your sleepy haze, realizing what was happening.

Feeling panic and shame taint your blood, you awkwardly tried to move away from his grasp but Matt wasn't going to let you - his arms held you tighter. Your attempt to clumsily, powerlessly wriggle out of his hold was a vain effort. It was too late: he already sensed that something was deeply wrong and Matt was one of those people who stop digging only when they find a body.

"Hey, talk to me," he pleaded quietly, fearfully as if anxious that wrong words would forever scare you away. It pained him: the possibility that you hurt yourself and he never noticed. Not only was he blind but a complete fool. "If you don't want to, it's alright, just say so."

"I..." you whispered hesitantly. Your voice was shaky. "I don't know what to say." That was the truth: what does one say in a situation like this? Do you play it off? Or tell your life's story? Is there no comfortable half-measure where you don't have to reopen old wounds and bleed on people who never held a blade to your throat? An elegant answer that won't summon the burning rawness of the memories?

"Alright," he answered while gently stroking your hair. He had no clue how to act either. Although he had nothing to do with whatever wraith once gnawed at your heart and mind, he felt as if he had failed at something. Matt couldn't help but recall all the days when you seemed a little less happy, when some gloomy clouds he couldn't name hang above your head. Was there something he could have done? Words he could have said to ease your aching heart? "We don't have to talk about it."

Cars continued to indifferently pass the apartment building. Single, dismembered yells echoed through the neighbourhood every now and then. Maybe it was for the better that this side of the world was asleep at this hour: there was only one person willing to hear the pain and strength you carried within your tired heart. Perhaps that person was the only person you wanted to tell about those snakes biting at your heels.

"I don't do it anymore," you whispered after a moment of silence. Sounds of nightlife nearly drowned out your quiet voice and, just for a moment, Matt questioned whether you really said that or simply his woe-stricken imagination whispered this promise to tame his frenzied heart. You knew that he was worried to the point of being physically sick, although he was far from coercing the truth from you. There was little obligation in your decision to tell him about it. It was a curious thing to be in love - to want the other person to know every mole and freckle on your skin, every nightmare and empty thought passing your headspace. "The urge is there but I can deal with it," you reassured him. It was the truth, no matter how dishonest it might have sounded, although not all of it: you simply did not have the heart to tell Matt that this urge never quite goes away; the bite marks of this snake never leave one's skin.

"You don't have to do it alone, love," he whispered against your face. "I want to be there for you." Matt pressed his lips against your forehead in a tender, uncharacteristically long, kiss.

There was desperation in his voice as if he begged you to let him help carry this burden. And what a freeing thought that was - to trust someone with the heaviness of your heart. Matt was asking for you to let him hold your vulnerability in his rough, bloodied hands that had denied mercy so many times. But, maybe, only hands like those were scarred, ruthless, enough to understand the weight of the gift they are trusted with. Cleaner, holier, fingers might be too brash to fully comprehend their own strength and viciousness. It was a privilege of all things and creatures murderous to truly take in the sacredness of life, just like only a thief knows the true value of diamonds.

The two of you simply lay there in silence. His rough hands caressed your skin in a comforting albeit absentminded manner. The strength of his hold remained, rendering you unable to move away and, perhaps, you were completely content with that. You could only wonder about it because Matt wasn't willing to ever admit it but he recognized that wraith of self-destruction you had battled with. To some degree, it was the reason why he hurt so much upon that night's discovery: he understood and it was absolutely gut-wrenching to know that someone he loved so dearly wasn't a stranger to this inhumane urge. You, quite simply, didn't deserve it. Maybe that's what humanity has always meant - to see your own face in another's pain and loneliness; to call someone's heartache by your own name.

And every chance he had, as if trying to make up for the times you had needed it the most, he held you a little tighter. A little longer.

#matt murdock #fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #scenario #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel fanfic #marvel scenario #daredevil #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x you #netflix daredevil #matthew murdock #daredevil netflix #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fic #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfic #marvel daredevil #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil imagine #matt murdock x reader

[misscammiedawn]

To add in to the recent discussion of Goncharov and Unreality, I want to take a moment and focus on how these concepts interact with the hypnosis community.

I will make quick note that this post may contain themes of psychological abuse (both intended and unintended) and hopefully acts as a bit of a learning tool.

If you are playing with hypnosis or thinking about playing with hypnosis... do take into consideration the lingering impacts of what extended play will do to the mind. I have seen it said in some circles that hypnosis is edge play and though I do not believe that myself, I have experienced the very kind of impact that could cause one to believe it. I have had my morality, boundaries, sense of self and grip on reality tested, altered and broken in the past. In ways I, fool that I was, believed at the time to be consensual.

I wouldn't wish my history on anyone.

Which is why I want to make note of something. Hypnosis can change a person's perception and mess with their ability to differentiate between real and fantasy. Between self and imposed. I feel like the majority of people working within the space understand that, but it's important to note. If you make someone see fireflies when they feel someone's hand stroking along their forearm, you NEED to ground that suggestion with "you'll know that they are a product of this hypnotic suggestion" you can even add some conditioning in there, "and knowing will prove just how deeply you surrender to me, knowing that it is a product of hypnosis will only further cement how captivating those glowing fireflies are and how mesmerizing it can be to look at them."

But you've GOT to add that awareness of reality in to every suggestion. Package hallucinations in fantasy, twist a person's mind and bend reality until hypnotee surrenders it completely and hypnotist controls it entirely. Do so. Eagerly. Wantonly. With bliss and blessing. But ALWAYS make sure that before and after a session a person has a grip on their reality. Because even the small things will take a toll on a mind.

I only have the perspective of a mildly psychotic insane woman. I cannot speak to neurotypicals (though I believe this kink attracts neurodivergent folx by default). But I can say that I cannot tell if some memories of my past actually happened or were guided fantasies or dreams or things I just thought up. A decent majority of my life is based on journal entries, testimonies from other people and a foot kept in the door of reality that tells me that "no matter how much you can recognize the scent of the spirit hallow that you visited in a tabletop game or the light headed tingle of the honey sweet air of Arcadia, those things are just fantasies made from sitting at a table with close friends. They didn't happen.".

There is such an allure to being able to control a hypnosis partner to the point of which your words shape reality. I know full well a partner wanted to use those exact words on my "my words shape your reality" before realizing that my psychotic little brain would not react well to that suggestion, and paused for a check-in to negotiate the wording of that concept. I shall eternally be grateful for that.

No matter that allure, though, the responsibility to leave your partners and yourself tethered to reality is *vital*.

Here are some good ideas for how to do that:

1. Create a box, save file, protective boundary or however you prefer to imagine the concept, that preserves the hypnotee's state of reality, mindset and security before the scene begins and restore it afterwards. Same concept as an amnesia scene, but with emphasis on grounding.

2. Mention that the hypnotee will always be aware of the false status of the suggestion and that they are acting under guidance. Reinforce this with a hypnotist's presence. Ensure you both understanding the "Guided" portion of guided imagery.

3. Aftercare that focuses on grounding and building reality. You spend a decent part of the scene/prep destroying those walls. Build them back up together.

4. Check-in can include a simple "are there any things you're unsure about right now?" display curiosity and understanding. I, myself, feel deep shame about my sense of disconnection from reality. At an earlier phase of my life I dove into danger and drove away from Real without considering the risk or how it would impact my partner... which leads to:

5. Be upfront. As I said. I am deeply ashamed of my poor mental health. Elements of it I still cannot disclose to my Family. But I consider it a moral act to tell my partners, especially when we play. If you even worry that you may not be able to keep a firm grip on reality, make requests, ask for the kind of grounding you feel would play best for you.

My hope is that my situation is far removed from The Normal enough that this post is a waste of words. But on the off-chance that you, as a hypnotee or hypnotist, have never considered the damage of not grounding or trying to blur reality to the point of it being unrecognizable from fantasy? I hope this gives you pause to think about it.

Just be safe out there, folx. I love you all and this silly little kink we share.

Send Asks if you need more details on everything.

#dawn posting #hypnokink #hypnosis #community safety #mental health #personal #watch me post my trauma in public #bpd #hypnokink writings

[iris-sistibly]

Thoughts about some fan theories about the highly anticipated Encantadia Chronicles: Sang'gre

WHO IS DEIA?

I guess this is the number one question the fans are asking right now. But one thing is for sure, Cassandra and Deia are NOT one and the same. This has already been confirmed by Suzette Doctolero herself, the character of Cassandra hasn't been introduced yet and the actress who's gonna play her remains a mystery.

Here are some other fan theories about Sang'gre Deia:

That Sang'gre Deia is the daughter of Ybrahim and Ariana

-No, I don't think so. Ybrahim and Ariana had some sort of connection because Amihan's soul was inside the latter's body. However, their relationship NEVER developed and Ybrahim only found out about the whole sarkosi thing in the final episode when Ariana was killed for the second time thus freeing Amihan's soul. Without Amihan inside her body, Ybrahim would never even bat an eye on Ariana. The best thing that could happen with these two is to have a cordial or civil relationship (due to Ariana's friendship with Lira).

2. Deia is the daughter of Cassandra

-I have a 50/50 opinion about this. Cassandra was born after the war between the sang'gres and Hagorn's forces and Lira was seen holding baby Cassandra along with Danaya, Alena and Pirena with their own babies. It was implied in the finale that the little girl in blue was Cassandra playing at the beach with Flamarra, Adamus and Terra. Meaning to say that she's around the same age as the other sang'gres, which means Cassandra is too young to have a daughter around Deia's age (unless her growth was magically sped up to make her older).

But the more I think about it...

What if the writers purposely left out some details and the girl in blue was actually Deia? And that scene was actually before Cassandra's birth? I saw Angel Guardian's photo with Ms Iza Calzado who played the original version of Amihan on her instagram account and apparently, Sang'gre Deia was actually named after Iza's daughter Deia Amihan. Are they giving hints of Deia being Amihan's second daughter? IMO this actually makes more sense than Deia being Amihan's great granddaughter.

ADAMUS IS TERRA'S LOVE INTEREST, AND THEY'RE TRYING TO RECREATE ANOTHER YBRAMIHAN LOVE STORY

I'm not a hypocrite, I support Ybramihan, Daemyra, Helaemond and Jonerys and yes, they're all related by blood (but I don't fucking support that shit in real life, I know the difference between fantasy and reality okay?).

This is highly unlikely. SD has made it clear that they're not trying to recreate the Ybramihan love team. Speaking of which, I just find it funny that there are people who are calling out the YA ship for being incest when nobody gave a fuck about it in 2016. Armeo and Raquim are first degree cousins (according to Etheria 2006, King Armeo's namesake, Prince Armeo was the brother of King Meno who died long before the war against Etheria), which makes Ybrahim and Amihan second cousins. Emre CHOSE Ybrahim to father Amihan's heir, and to top all that, they're not humans.

I have a theory about this:

If you're a Percy Jackson fan and you have read all PJO books, you know that the demigods' godly parents are all related which makes them in a way related as well. BUT, they are allowed to date other demigods as long as their partners aren't born from the same godly parent (otherwise, they would be dating their own sibling) so it doesn't matter if their godly parents are siblings, cousins, etc. Maybe, the same thing applies to engkantados. Perhaps they are allowed to date or marry someone from their family as long as it's not an immediate or a first degree family member. Again, this is just my own theory.

IS ARMEA GOING TO EXIST IN THE SEQUEL?

SD did not give a direct answer, but if you ask me my answer is no. Adamus is the Armea of this version of Encantadia. Alena has already moved on from Ybrahim although they maintained a cordial relationship with each other. Besides, I don't think Alena would want to bypass Lira once more by having her own heir to the Lirean throne. Lira is the rightful heir to the throne and Alena would be happy to pass the crown to her one day. Cassandra is already named crown princess of Sapiro and King Ybrahim's heir by Cassiopeia herself, so for me, as much as I love Armea in Pag-ibig Hanggang Wakas, there's no need for an Armea in this version.

There are so many crazy theories out there but these are the ones that really caught my attention. Btw, these are all from Suzette Doctolero's X page and she has been reposting and answering some fan questions and theories, feel free to check them out.

#encantadiatopic #sang'gre #suzette doctolero #iza calzado #kylie padilla #ruru madrid #gabbi garcia #angel guardian #bianca umali #kelvin miranda #amihan #ybrahim #alena #deia #terra #mikee quintos #lira #cassandra #ybramihan